


The Earl and His Stray

by sneakingfox, tincanicarus



Series: Regency [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Anthony is a homeless orphan, Awkwardness, Bathing/Washing, Cyberhusbands, Forbidden Love, Human Jarvis (Iron Man movies), Idiots in Love, Jarvis is an Earl, M/M, Rhodey turns up late to fix Tony's messes, Slow Build, Slow Romance, You Have Been Warned, that's what friends are for, very very slow build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:57:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 80,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1865457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneakingfox/pseuds/sneakingfox, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tincanicarus/pseuds/tincanicarus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Jarvis Thompson, Earl of Aitherton in the British Kingdom, has always been a bit of an eccentric. When he catches a young man failing at stealing from his kitchen, he takes pity on the stray and offers him a roof over his head and a bed to sleep in, in exchange for young Anthony to work off the damage he caused. Neither of them realises they're in too deep until it's too late.</p><p>This fic is NOT historically accurate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 0. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as a tumblr roleplay by tumblr users [snarkyai](http://snarkyai.tumblr.com) and [thegeniusisme](http://thegeniusisme.tumblr.com), we've collected the tidbits of story and cleaned them up to make it presentable as a fanfiction. This is a co-written piece, but thegeniusisme doesn't have an ao3 account. In case you want to potentially spoil yourself by looking at it, feel free to check out the tag "Regency AU" on these blogs.
> 
> And! There's also a [youtube playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLk-jif5zJnzYqRyYH_kEHhbGleE_m-kTc) made expressively dedicated to this fic, feel free to listen to it while you read.

Some day Lord Thompson, Eighth Earl of Aitherton, would go to bed at a decent hour. Tonight, however, he is too engrossed in the new treatise he has managed to acquire, so immersed in the words, that he has not noticed the setting of the sun beyond adjusting to sit closer to one of the lamps, eyes never leaving the pages as he continued to read.

He is so engrossed in the book that if not for the fact that he had taken a small break to attempt to find his spectacles, eyes growing weary from straining in the lower light, he might have completely missed the crash from elsewhere in the mansion - the kitchen, Jarvis guesses, and pauses in his reading, a frown marring his face as he turns his head in the direction of the study door. It is not unusual that a person could hear noise from the kitchen while in the main part of the town house, but at this late hour, with most of the staff gone home or sleeping, the sound was unexpected to carry through the still air of the home. It would have been quite a clamour for him to hear it all the way in his study.

Brows drawing together he stands up, grabbing his cane. He had let the staff off this night, leaving him as the only person currently in the home. Normally there would be at least a footman on duty through the night, but Jarvis had originally intended to leave for the country manor that day; plans that were postponed by the long anticipated arrival of the books.

With a flick of his wrist the top of the cane separates from the shaft, revealing a blade that gleamed coldly in the light of the lanterns. It is only with a moments hesitation that he snatches up one of the lanterns near the door, carrying it just so that the light would not cloud his vision. His footsteps are as silent as he can manage with the occasional creaking of the wooden floor when the Earl steps close to the kitchen door; and he nearly rolls his eyes at the commotion within. There had hardly been any need for silence on his part.

Eyeing the light that is peeking from beneath the door he slowly undoes the latch, pushing the door open enough to peek around the edge.

In any other situation the sight that greeted him would have made him laugh. There, balanced on one of the preparation counters, mouth full of bread and arms full of miscellaneous foodstuffs, trying to rustle through the cupboard despite the weight in his arms, was a silhouetted figure, the whole scene seeming to Jarvis about as intimidating as watching a squirrel try to steal a packet of roasted chestnuts.

There is little need to bother with the lantern anymore and it is an easy thing to set it hanging upon one of the hooks beside the door. Pushing the door open all the way Jarvis takes a casual stance within the doorway, leaning against the frame with eyebrow quirked up.

"Enjoying yourself, sir burglar?"

It was almost worth it to watch how the man startled, food seeming to fly out of his arms, jars breaking on impact with the kitchen floor, and wide eyes were turned on Jarvis. There’s a beat of silence in which everything is still in the kitchen, then the burglar springs into action, obviously intending to leave running.

The man is surprisingly quick, his size belaying the underlying strength, but Jarvis is quicker, profiteering of the element of surprise. Still, it was a bit of struggle and by the end of it Jarvis is nearly out of breath.

He is impressed though, despite himself. The man is still struggling despite being pinned to the floor with an arm twisted up behind his back. "I really would stop struggling if I were you," Jarvis says mildly. He is almost more surprised when the struggles cease and the intruder speaks.

"You know, normally I wouldn’t mind being pinned down, but I usually prefer that they buy me a drink at least beforehand," the struggle had taken just as much out of the other, perhaps more if he was as underfed as he appeared. The words were also laden with false aplomb, and Jarvis smirked to hear it.

"I am afraid that I do not give drinks to people who have broken into my home, it’s a personal rule of mine." He could swear that the man beneath him almost laughs. 

“Hey, you never know. Maybe if you let me up we can work it out somehow. I’m flexible.”

Jarvis frowns again, but well, it was a rather awkward position to be in. Moving slowly he stands up, keeping a careful eye on the man as he stands and retrieves his sword. The light is dim, but he can make out some of the thief’s features. He was slim, shorter in stature than Jarvis by several inches, unruly curls sat atop features that currently appeared to be fighting between irritation and fear, settling somewhere between with a frustrated scowl.

"I don’t suppose I can convince you just let me go and not call the bobbies?" Jarvis would have laughed at the poor attempt at a suggestive smile the man, barely out of boyhood if Jarvis was any judge, was attempting, but instead he feels a touch of guilt as he thinks of the bruises that he must have left on the slim form before him. And call him a hundred kinds of fool but he knows the guilt would become unbearable if he called the constables down of the boy’s head.

With a sigh the Earl shakes his head, motioning towards the door from which the intruder had most certainly come. “Just go and we shall consider this to have never happened.” The shift in expression was almost instantaneous, suspicion clouding the boy’s features even in the dim light. “Just like that? You’re going to let me go just like that?”

"Would you prefer I make you pay for all those jars you broke?" Jarvis ignored the boy’s muttered words, _that was your fault,_ as an idea comes to him. “Well,” he drawls the word, smirking at the slightly panicked look that graced the thief’s face now, though it’s gone just as quickly to be replaced by careful neutrality. “You did just ruin a sizable amount of food. To make up for it does sound like quite a good idea.” The boy remains stubbornly silent. “But alas, we both know you are not capable of paying me back. Because, after all, why would you be stealing from my pantry if you were able to buy your own food?”

Now the boy looks up at Jarvis, keeping his expression stony. Everything the Earl is saying is the truth, after all. “I will offer you an ultimatum. I can either call the constable,” Jarvis holds up a finger, forestalling the boy’s protests. “Or,” he says, drawing the word out. “You could work off the price of the food you ruined. Your choice.”

Eyes hidden by shadow meet his, and Jarvis would have grinned at the defiant look on the other’s face. But the intruder must have been smart enough to know that, eyes flicking to the sword, nobody would question a noble’s actions against a common thief.

Expression turning mulish the boy hunches his shoulders. “It’s not mucha choice,” is the mumbled reply. Jarvis' smirk is quick and sharp. “That settles it, then,” and he lowers his blade until the tip just barely touches the floor. “I prefer to know the names of those in my employ.”

The silence stretches between them for a moment, while Jarvis waits for a response, eyebrow raising. He was not disappointed. “Anthony,” the word is dragged out, given reluctantly. “I am called Anthony Stark.”

"Welcome to the service of the Earl of Aitherton, Anthony."


	2. Chapter 2

Anthony has not stopped being bewildered by the time he gets shoved into a bedroom and told to ‘sleep before it’s time for breakfast’. Already his mind balks at the fact he apparently gets his own room, and then Lord Thompson mentions breakfast and the young man stays standing in the darkness of the room, blinking at his surroundings for a few minutes straight.

The moonlight illuminates a bed, a bedside table, something that’s probably a wardrobe - not like he has clothes to put into a wardrobe, but there’s a wardrobe - rich curtains, and some candle holders.

It’s a simple room, not very big, but there is only one bed, and how the hell did that happen, is the Earl insane? Anthony was still berating himself for being stupid, he should have just picked up a loaf of bread and left, but his stomach was growling so bad and when he saw all of that food… he kind of lost it right there, grabbed much more than he could carry, and of course that would lead to being caught - he was still bracing himself for whatever kind of cruel punishment would be after the Lord’s taste, when he got offered a job instead.

That it’s the mansion’s owner who would trap him and then offer for him to ‘work it off’ was unexpected. That said owner then didn’t drag him to his own room is downright confusing. What else would you pick up a stray for - one you don’t know anything but the name of, no less - if not for entertainment in the sheets?

What’s more, Anthony could run. He could pull the window open and climb down to the ground, never to be seen or heard of again. Only that he doesn’t really have anywhere to run to in the first place, and to sleep in an actual bed with the outlook of regular meals sounds like heaven right now.

It doesn’t change how the boy approaches the bed carefully, as if expecting a cushion to jump at him at a sudden movement, and just as hesitatingly lowers his fingers to touch soft, soft sheets.  
"Oh," he says, as if only now realizing that this isn’t a dream. The Earl might be insane, a sadist, a slave-driver or— or whatever else Anthony’s overactive imagination can come up with, but with how things are currently looking - the bed is too tempting - Anthony decides to take what he gets.  
He can run off tomorrow, nobody says he can’t enjoy the offered bed and breakfast, after all, right? Pulling his rags off of himself, the boy crawls into the bed in the nude (it wouldn’t do to wear those itchy clothes when he’s got such soft sheets to cuddle into, after all), a content sigh escaping him when he’s comfortable - he doesn’t remember ever sleeping on a mattress this comfortable, and then the thought occurs to him that tomorrow, this might all be over - he might not get to sleep in here again.

The thought keeps him blinking towards the window for a while, the grip on the sheet growing tight, but eventually exhaustion takes over, dragging him into a deep, dreamless slumber.  
Even asleep, he still grips the sheet tightly in one hand.

\-----

The sky has only just begun to lighten when Jarvis starts preparing for the day. His valet had always complained about how early the lord awoke no matter how late he had stayed up the previous night, as is Jarvis’ habitude - just another eccentricity of the earl.

But Jarvis enjoys the silence of that time of day, the world as it was shortly before the sunrise, always has. Closing his eyes he leaned back in his chair, breathing the aroma of his morning tea. A smile curving his lips and he nearly hummed with the simple pleasure he felt in that moment.

He lets his mind wander and eventually it lands on the question of the boy sleeping in one of the many guest rooms, the earl wondering idly if he is making a mistake. Perhaps the boy has slipped out in the night, though he does not think so. Jarvis considered himself a good read of other’s characters, and the boy, Anthony, did not seem the type to actually enjoy living on the streets (not that anyone really does, but the point still stands).

The earl has no doubt that Pepper and his other associates would chastise him over yet another charity case, but in this moment he could not bring himself to worry about their opinions, instead hoping that his intuition concerning Anthony proves correct.

Pepper is already on the way to check up on the newest addition of the household, not pausing as she enters the small room (a servant’s room, one of the many that have not been used in a while), opening the windows before turning to the bed, the young man groaning in displeasure before cracking an eye open at her, standing in front of the window, fixing him with an unimpressed look, her arms folded over her chest.

That seems to wake him up, as he scrambles away from her, throwing her a look out of wild, confused eyes, his hair in tangles, the sheet revealing his naked upper body. “Who’re you?”  
She considers not answering, narrowing her gaze at him, but relenting - he looks much like a scared little boy, ready to run at the slightest threat. “Lady Potts, the Earl’s accountant. The better question here is really, who are you?”

Walking around the bed - the boy’s gaze never leaving her as she makes her way around the room - the redhead wrinkles her nose at the scraps that are lying discarded at the ground, all but throwing a simple shirt and pants in the boy’s face.

"Anthony," comes the soft reply, and she sends him a tight smile. "Get dressed and go downstairs, Anthony, the Earl will have breakfast with you." And with a flurry of skirts, she is out of the room, the door clicking closed behind her.

Spending another second staring at the closed door - she was stunningly beautiful - Anthony scrambles again to throw the clothes on himself. The shirt is too wide on him, the sleeves dangling a bit at his side, but the pants can mercifully be pulled tight over his hips, or he’d probably have lost them after three steps.

\-----

"Well, this one doesn’t look _too_ terrible,” Jarvis tries to hide a laugh, it was best to not tempt the Lady Potts when she was even mildly annoyed at you. “He looks healthier than the last person you took in at least.”

Jarvis hid a smirk, picking up his paper to peruse the headlines. “You know, while I am delighted that you decided to grace me with your presence this morning, you did not actually have to deliver the clothes yourself. That is what the maid was supposed to do.”  
Some day the fact that Jarvis is always amused when he can cause the ever efficient Lady Potts to roll her eyes and give him that ‘patient’ look will land him in a great deal of trouble. But he chooses to ignore that this morning. Watching her huff is far too amusing. “Mr. Thompson, you are a smart man, but when it comes to helping people you are quite blind. It is my imperative to meet each waif that you take in, especially since the last time I neglected to do so resulted in the theft of that pearl broach.”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “And the joke was on them, if you remember correctly? The pearls were low quality and pasted on. A piece of cheap costume jewelry Lord Cage’s young daughter left in the tea room. Hardly something to worry over, Miss Potts,” he sighed and offered a smile. “Come, it is obvious that Anthony did not abscond with the family jewels in the night. I still have all ten fingers. Why don’t you join us for breakfast? I intend to leave for the country estate by the tenth hour.”

"I’m afraid I cannot stay," she glances up and then back to him, offering him a smile in turn. "I simply came to visit before you left, and inform you that the most recent investment looks like it will be successful. The returns are promising."

That is Lady Potts to you, focused on the business and always concerned with her employer's tendencies to not be as careful as she'd like him to be. She leaves shortly after and Jarvis finds himself alone with his lingering doubts in the dining room.

\----

It’s only when Anthony steps outside of the (his?) room that he falters, the mansion seeming alive now, the steps of the servants audible below him, and suddenly Anthony’s heart is in his throat. What will the Earl do with him? Maybe he should count his lucky stars and leave, they probably won’t notice until he’s far enough to hide in street corners— but there’s curiosity gnawing at him, and Anthony knows if he leaves right away, he’ll berate himself for missing out on breakfast anyway.

Asking a valet for directions to the kitchen - the man takes in his disheveled state, raises his eyebrows, but points him at the right door anyways - Anthony ends up in the doorway to the dining room (the cook taking one look at him and announcing he’s not going to get into the kitchen before he’s washed his hands), Lord Thompson already seated there.

It is silly to hover but he can’t make himself enter the room, knowing that he should announce himself, but instead he drags a hand through his hair, leaving it even messier, and his voice sounds hesitant more than anything. “Um, morning?”

At Anthony’s greeting Jarvis glances up and offers a welcoming smile, carefully folding and setting aside the newspaper. "Good morning, Anthony. I trust you had a pleasant rest?" he gestures to a chair close to his own. "Please, be seated."

The way the Lord talks to him one could believe Anthony to be a guest, and this whole situation is just plain absurd. The young man frowns lightly because he has no idea what he got himself into here, his hair sticking up even more wildly after he’s pulled at it in that nervous gesture, and makes his way inside the room, staring at Jarvis as if he’d suspect the other to— who knows, grow a second head, or suddenly start cackling and yelling ‘just kidding!’.

"Ah, yes, thanks— milord?"

He plops down into the chair the other indicated, gaze sweeping hungrily around the breakfast before he looks at Jarvis again, mouth opening and closing before he can ask one of the many questions. This is ridiculous, this man has pinned him to the kitchen floor, he shouldn’t feel like he’s walking on eggshells talking to him.

"I’m a little confused,” Anthony says eventually, fiddling with one too-long sleeve, trying to quell the urge to dig into the food before Jarvis has giving him express permission. “Why would you want to eat breakfast with me?”

Ugh, he just hopes he won’t make the Lord angry before he has the chance to stuff himself. To get thrown into a dungeon on an empty stomach is not much of a nice experience.

But instead of getting irritated the lord smiles, decision made that - for now, at least - he can trust this one. "I have found it advantageous to be able to speak to a person one-on-one before I employ them," now he reaches forward and grabs a slice of bread, indicating to his table guest that he may begin eating. "Sometimes even being able to speak with them in the light of day is enough to give a person a decent reading on someone’s character. You must admit, lamplight in a dark kitchen is hardly able to give one enough of a view to see a glimpse of a person’s character.

"Besides,” he continues. “You have to pay for all those jars of peaches and vegetables that you broke. The cook was most put out at the loss," he hides his smirk by taking a bite of the bread.

Not going to let the other offer twice, Anthony takes his chance and bites into a piece of bread before Jarvis has really gotten his own piece to his plate, already speculating on whether he should eat the crumbs too, before the noble has finished speaking - but the phrasing of you have to pay makes him flinch despite himself, and he’s glaring at the other before he realizes what he’s doing, averting his gaze quickly.

"Am I sleeping in your bed tonight, milord?"

The commentary about needing daylight to judge his character - ha, ridiculous - only makes Anthony all the more sure that the only reason you would offer someone whose abilities you knew nothing about to work off their debt would be if you wanted to make them a plaything, and he’s not exactly ungrateful (there are worse ways to pay for thieving, after all), but that doesn’t mean he has to like someone with influence and power like Lord Thompson bully him into bed just because he can.

Jarvis supposes he should be thankful that this particular stray was blunter than most of the others - at least Anthony actually bothered to ask, he would never be able to live down the time one of the other people he’d tried to help just assumed and had crawled into bed with him. Pepper still claims that she had been able to hear his shriek all the way to London. Despite expecting the question the noble can’t stop the look of distaste that crosses his face at both the memory and the question. He hated the fact that such a situation was a very likely reality for someone in Anthony’s position.

"No," his reply is perhaps a touch too abrupt, but he cannot really control his reaction. Anthony’s eyebrows raise a little, the suddenness and the reaction itself taking him by surprise, while Jarvis takes a deep breath, reining in his temper. "No, you will never sleep in my bed, and I shall never visit yours," he fixes the boy with a look. Anthony’s brows climb even higher on his forehead, because— never? That’s a little— he’s not _that_ dirty, is he? The look down at himself is more a reflex than anything, but there’s nothing that obviously wrong that he himself could tell, so Anthony’s look remains quizzical when he faces the blond again.

"If I wanted someone to warm my bed I could more than easily find someone more than willing and eager to do so," the Earl’s expression hardens. Even the thought of taking someone who was unwilling was enough to sicken him, and he pushes his plate away, appetite gone.  
Abruptly he looks away, voice distant. “Today I am leaving to spend the summer months at my estate in the country. You have two choices to work off your debt. As my residence in the city will be empty I cannot offer you a position on my staff here, but I can find you employment elsewhere in the city, it would most certainly be hard work, but honest labour. There would be no guarantee of room and board, but it would be work. Or you may accompany me and take a position on my household staff there. Either way a small portion of your pay would be deducted to compensate me for the ruined food. And only for the ruined food.”

Abruptly the young lord stands. “I intend to leave at the tenth hour, you have an hour to decide. Until then you may find me in my study when you have made a decision.” And with that he leaves, food forgotten, leaving Anthony sitting at a table full of food, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at the door and then at the food in front of him, and deciding for food. 

He’ll apologize later for offending the young lord - he’s pretty sure he was offended, though the whole scene is still a bit of an enigma to him - right now, he just wants to fill his stomach.


	3. Chapter 3

Not used to having that much food available, Anthony eats too quickly and too much, his stomach hurting a bit by the time he’s finished his breakfast, but he decides to ignore that for now, instead sliding out of the chair and going to search his Lord.

The manor still feels big and intimidating to navigate, so he asks someone, and gets directed towards the study, blinking at the heavy-looking wooden door for a few seconds before lifting his hand, rapping his knuckles against it and counting to five before he sticks his head inside.  
He was gonna be very polite and dignified about the whole thing, but instead he blurts out “I’m sorry” before stepping inside, staying very close to the door. 

It would be a lie to say that Jarvis is not startled by the sudden apology. He has been prepared for a touch more defiance. Soon after he had left Jarvis had regretted his outburst. Really, just because he is angered by the situation did not mean that he had the right to lose his temper before his guest. And certainly not in that manner. In fact he had already resigned himself to seeking out possible employment opportunities for the lad.

“I didn’t mean to offend you and I didn’t mean that that’s all I’m good for,” Anthony goes on, aware that he’s not doing very good at expressing himself but by then it’s already out in the open, and woah, when did he get defensive?

Worrying his lower lips, Anthony gives an easy shrug. “I can read.”

All Jarvis can do for a moment is blink in bewilderment. His worries and plans are suddenly set aside as he tries to piece together what the boy is implying. Taking off his reading glasses he fixes the boy with a curious look.

"Am I allowed to assume that you would like to enter into my employ?"

"Sure," Anthony replies to the question, and realizes at that point that, actually, he really does want to work for the young lord. The noble might be a total weirdo, but he’s piqued Anthony’s curiosity, and he seems just a little too nice to be actually real - not to mention that physical labor is not one of Anthony’s strengths, and neither is holding his mouth shut when someone calls him ‘shrimp’ in order to not get kicked around by someone twice his size.

"You are able to read? That is quite fortuitous." It was not a lie, if the boy was competent enough it could solve at least one problem. His last secretary had to be let off when Pepper found that he had been stealing funds from the earl. And no, the man had not been one of his charity cases, thank you very much.

"Tell me," he says, an idea forming. "How well is your penmanship? If you would like to enter my employ I could use the services of someone with such skills on occasion to assist me with my correspondence. There is an unholy amount of paper that crosses my desk, too much for me to handle alone.”

"I’ve never written with ink, but I learn fast—," he adds, eyeing the writing utensils on the other’s desk, then facing Jarvis again. "That doesn’t sound very exciting, but I can do that, I think, I can show you, if you want?"

He’s already halfway across the room, itching to pick up the quill and prove it, but he sends the blond a wry smirk. “After all, I could be lying.” By now he’s pretty sure the thought never even crossed the lord’s mind.

Curiosity peaked, the young lord fishes out a spare piece of parchment and pushes the writing implements towards the young man. Jarvis was more than aware of the fact that most of the lower classes were illiterate, or mostly so. Education among the poor and working class was inconsistent at best and nearly unheard of for those who lived on the streets. That Anthony could even read considering his circumstances was remarkable at the least. "Well, it is never too late to learn, or practice for that matter," he says with a smile as he settles back to watch.

Anthony takes the quill gingerly, eyes widening a little at the parchment, because it’s parchment and that is not exactly cheap— but really, he’s got something to prove here, and that’s definitely the priority right now, so he sets to work. He’s not holding the quill the way he’d have been taught to hold it if he had actually been taught to do this, but it gets the job done while he dips the feather in ink and puts it to the parchment. He presses too hard at first, making blotches appear, but Anthony is nothing if not determined - by the time he’s gotten to the ‘t’ of Anthony he’s figured out just how much pressure it needs, and that ink disappears rather quickly when he writes too slow, making him dip it again - in the end, the letters are a little uneven, but that’s the way his writing has always been. It doesn’t start to compare to the beautiful, flowing letters that decorate some of the papers he spies across the writing desk, probably Jarvis’ own writing. Worrying his lower lip again, Anthony studies the parchment with the few stray drops of ink on it critically, then slightly pushes it in Jarvis’ direction, not really convinced of his own work. “Might be enough to forge your signature, at least.”

Jarvis had watched in silence as the boy gingerly holds the quill and carefully forms the letters of his name. And Jarvis has to admit, he is impressed at the result for a first try. Although the letters were in no way the smoothly flowing and precise swirls and lines of his own hand, or any lords for that matter, he firmly believed in giving credit where credit was due. Quills were not necessarily easy to work with. Casting his gaze over the clumsy lines, he tips his head. “It may be,” he says, amusement threading his voice. “Although I have a few acquaintances who can be exceedingly suspicious, so I believe that I shall allow you to practice your craft a touch longer before I ask you to take dictation.”

He sets the piece of parchment aside, leaning back in his seat. So it would appear that he would not be able to ask the boy to act as his secretary all the time, but at least he could help him sort through his correspondence. "Even so, I do believe you will be able to assist me, and I am willing to allow you to practice more if you so desire. I will understand if you have no desire to spend your time in such a tedious manner, I know I do not."

Trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in his gut of having disappointed, Anthony fiddles once again with his sleeves, breathing a sigh. “I’m not stupid. What you’re offering is too good to say no to, but— why would you want to hire me? You didn’t know anything about me and told me I could work off the damage.”

It was a good question. After all, you didn’t just let a criminal from the streets into your home; that was just asking for trouble. And as Pepper had pointed this morning, Jarvis had judged poorly before. 

Pressing his fingers against his lips in thought Anthony tilts his head, mustering the lord. “It’s not like you even asked for my qualifications.” And really, the stray had thought he knew the reason for that, but apparently he was wrong in his assumption, which just left him with even more questions.

If Lord Thompson continues to be as generous with him as he’s shown to be so far, Anthony will spend his whole life trying to work off the debt, which is probably not the worst of fates - even if office work really doesn’t sound very exciting. “I mean, I— I broke into your kitchen, and your reaction was—” The young man trails off, thinking if he’d finish the phrase he might offend the lord again.

"My reaction was to try not to laugh," Jarvis says, finishing the sentence. "You were balanced on the countertop with your arms filled with jars of preserved goods and making such a racket that I could hear you even in the main house. Which is quite an accomplishment I might add." He falls silent for another moment, picking his words carefully. It is difficult to explain why he decided to entrust a stray with so much, a rare case even for Jarvis. The young, eccentric earl may be known for his charity cases, but he was wise enough to tread carefully around people raised on the streets of London. "Do you want me to be honest? I think that you need this. The streets are clearly not kind to you; in fact you seem quite ill suited to life there. Oh, I am quite certain that you are more than capable of surviving out there, but that should not mean that you have to.”

"It’s like you caught some kitten raid your food stack and decided to take it in because it looked underfed and pitiful," Anthony says, slapping a hand on his mouth as soon as the words are out, eyes growing a little wider at the other. "I— I mean—"

Actually, that’s exactly what he means, but why did he say it out loud? He didn’t mean to do that! Curse his untamed tongue, if he can’t keep his mouth shut, he won’t be employed for any length of time. (That much he knows from experience.)

 _Well, it is quite similar,_ Jarvis thinks as a smile curls the edges of his mouth. The person before him definitely has some fight in him, but he is painfully thin, and the clothes only emphasised the fact. At least they were better than the bare rags the boy had been wearing the night before. Getting out of the seat he was in to test his writing skill, Anthony carefully backs away, controlling his movement so it won’t look like he’s beating a hasty retreat. “Um, packing, milord? You’ll be late for your own carriage.”

"You are never late for your own carriage. But the sentiment is appreciated," Jarvis did not mention that his valet had already packed everything for the trip the day before yesterday. It was simply Anthony’s poor luck that the lord of the house had postponed his move to the countryside.  
"Shall I assume that you will be meeting me at the carriage? I am not lying when I say that I would greatly appreciate your services."

"I said yes to you asking if I would like to enter in your— household, or something." That just makes it sound as if Anthony was to be a piece of furniture. "And I’m not gonna go back on my word, if that is what you mean." Anthony stands a little straighter at that, chin tilting upwards just a little. He gets people not trusting him, but he doesn’t like it all the same, only then the Earl says he’d greatly appreciate his services, and Anthony deflates a little, because what.

This time the Earl’s smile seems brighter and it is as if a weight has lifted. It was always a fear he had, and a careful balance he tread, he wants the people he helps to make their own decisions. He abhors the thought that they may feel as if they are instantly indebted to him, a lord with too much privilege. 

That Anthony is doing this of his own will is what is most important.

“Milord,” Anthony begins, hesitatingly, and scratches his head, “why are you so nice to me?”  
Frankly, it’s highly confusing, the way Anthony keeps expecting the knife in his back but it just won’t happen. It’s like the laws he’s grew up with don’t mean anything in this house, around this man.

At the question Jarvis tilts his head, blinking. “I attempt to show kindness to everyone,” he says slowly, as if the answer should be obvious. “Everyone deserves someone being kind to them, even if they will not return the sentiment.” His smile turns a touch wistful. “Doesn’t the world just seem that little bit less terrible when you know there are people who actually care in the world?”  
Anthony opens his mouth, and closes it again.

"I suppose I was really lucky I broke into your kitchen," he says, slowly, but with a small smile on his lips. It’s the only thought he could grasp that wasn’t conveying nothing but confusion in his head.

"Do you need me to do something before the carriage leaves?" Lord Thompson hasn’t reacted to Anthony mentioning packing, so maybe he should do that? (Not that he’d know what to pack, or how to properly fold the fancy clothes the Earl is wearing, but he supposes he could improvise on that. Improvising he’s always been good at.)

The young lord tilts his head a smile tugging at his lips as he finally catches onto that the boy is really asking, and slowly he shakes his head. “My trunk has already been packed and stowed on the carriage this morning,” leaning forward he rests his chin on a hand, eyes sparkling with a smile. “My valet would be quite put out with me if I tried to replace him, so really you need not worry about packing.”

He sits back, gathering and organising papers. “However if you have anything you may wish to take with us I shall delay our departure. I intend to stay there over the summer months, and the estate is well over a day’s travel away. We will actually have to stop at an inn along the way to avoid travel at night. So if there are any items of import to you that you wish to retrieve please, feel free to do so. As I had said, the advantage to having your own carriage is that it can leave whenever you prefer.”

Anthony shuffles a bit under that gaze and shakes his head. Possession of any kind doesn’t last long when you don’t have a home, and the few friends he made he hasn’t been in contact in for a long while. (His thoughts wander to Rhodey, who’s been picked up for the cavalry a while back, and wonders if he’s still alive, and if it would be possible to let him know that Anthony is, too.)  
He wouldn’t know what to go back out to the street for in the first place.

"That’s fine, milord, we can leave right now— whenever you wish." Lightly shrugging, Anthony’s thoughts stray back to the streets, thinking how the only things he really ever owned out there were his abilities and his mind. It’s one of the few things that nobody could take from him. Everything else you might possess is useless to get attached to.

"Very well then, I will meet out at the carriage at the top of the hour. In the meantime you should find the housekeeper and she will give you a few more sets of clothes," Jarvis pauses for a moment, taking in the state of Anthony’s feet, feeling his mouth twitch with the urge to chuckle. "And she will also outfit you with a pair of shoes."

He glances back up, making a point of trying to meet the boy’s eyes. “And before you believe that this is yet another expense you will be forced to pay off, I always provide those in my employ with a full set of clothing, and that includes a pair of shoes.”

Anthony almost, almost opens his mouth to protest, because he doesn’t need that, really, stop spending money on him— but then Jarvis says that is the standard procedure and he’s frankly too flabbergasted at this point to even think of something to say. Jarvis goes back to his papers, which Anthony takes as his cue to leave, drawing the door shut behind him - and staying standing there, at the door to the Lord’s office, blinking at the wall opposite of him.

He’s dreaming. That must be it. Any second now he’ll wake up in an alley and fight rats for food.  
But before that train of thought can continue, the housekeeper finds him, tutting and complaining about his state - _“Walking around barefoot!”_ \- and drags him along stumbling behind her.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s not getting any less strange at all.  
Anthony gets his hair brushed, his face shaved, taught in how to take care of his own coat, which is necessary, what with how precious clothes are, and finally dressed in some clothes that fit. The young man nods along wide-eyed, mind balking at the fact that this is actually happening to him. It seems like no time at all has passed by the point he gets ushered out the front door, and left there to stare at the carriage, a piece of baggage waiting for its owner.

When Jarvis steps out of the house he is greeted with a sight he had not altogether expected. Looking upon Anthony he could still see traces of the waif who had strayed into his kitchen, but standing before him now was not a wisp of a boy but a young man. Dressed in clothes that fit, washed of most of the dirt, and Anthony was revealed to be more striking than the young lord had expected. 

His eyes quickly skitter away and it is only through long practice that he does not fumble or trip over his own feet at the shock or emotions. As it is he only just barely manages to hide how flustered he is. Instead he offers what he hopes is an easy smile, passing over his hat and cane to the footman and waving away their offer of assistance. He sits, waiting patiently for his valet and Anthony to join him, having never been comfortable traveling completely alone in the large compartment, or forcing his servants to endure the elements outside.

"Should I not sit with—?" Anthony wonders out loud, pointing at the coachman’s seat, but the valet just shakes his head, sending him an unimpressed look when he still isn’t moving to step into the compartment.

It is, in the end, that look that sends Anthony into movement, taking the place opposite of Jarvis, still feeling a little skittish around all those servants, though so far his presence has been tolerated by all of them. He eyes the door with a frown when it shuts behind the valet, his gaze dancing around the compartment - he’s never been impressed with that sort of construction, wondering if the people don’t feel trapped sitting in there - you only notice you’re getting ambushed when it’s already too late. But then the horses are set into motion by a voice command of the coachman, and all Anthony can do is try not to think bleak thoughts, his eyes landing on the Earl.

Trying to keep his expression neutral, Anthony studies him intently for a moment. “Are you feeling alright?”

The valet next to him lets go of a slight sigh and Anthony’s gaze skitters over to him before fixing back on Jarvis, adding the forgotten honorific as an afterthought, worrying his lower lip: “—milord?”

The lord’s eyes flick over to Anthony and away again before focusing back on the boy. The hesitation is minute, and he hopes, well hidden. “I am quite well, Anthony. I am simply not fond of long carriage rides. No matter how well the construction of the vehicle, it never makes a very comfortable journey.”

As he speaks he glances out the carriage window. It’s true that he would prefer to travel outside the carriage, but the weather this time of year rarely allowed comfortable travel by horseback. Letting out a sigh he settles back against the seats, pulling out a book and proceeding to try to immerse himself in the words. Discomfort related to travelling Anthony can relate to - despite the fact he himself has only been seated in here for about three minutes - and he lets the subject go, feeling the book coming up like a wall. Don’t talk to me I am busy. He wants to ask questions, and now feels he needs to try bite his tongue, which he does, but there’s only so long he can see that through, finger drumming on his thigh, gaze directed at the outside of the carriage. At some point he can’t help himself, the atmosphere too quiet in the compartment, head turning, focusing on Jarvis’ hands before going to the young Lord’s face, and he all but blurts his question, not even asking if he’s allowed to pose it: “Why aren’t you married, milord?”

Oh. _Oh, by the love of—_ Quelling the urge to slam his head against the compartment wall, Anthony, apparently highly focused, turns his gaze on the window again, trying not to react to the prickly feeling in his skin that comes with knowing that the Lord is looking at him right now.

Jarvis was so shocked for a moment that he didn’t even notice his valet turning to chastise the boy before it was almost too late. That was not a question that one expected out of the mouth of an employee, especially not one in your employ. Holding up a hand to forestall the other man, he raises a brow. “It is alright, Elias,” he says. No more is needed.

Jarvis feels a tug at the corner of his lips. Anthony is delightfully different from anyone else in the lord’s acquaintance; and that includes the other people he has helped get away from the streets.  
So rather than become annoyed, or stay routed in shock, he smiles again. Closing his book partially as he looks at the young man stubbornly gazing out the window. Absently taking in the way his curls tried to hide his eyes.

"That is quite a bold question, Anthony," but his tone is only amused. "I wonder, why are you so curious? The answer is not all that interesting, I am afraid. It is simply that I have had no need for a wife and no one who has captured my attention."

Of course, Jarvis is right, and of course the valet - Elias, Anthony thinks, putting the name to memory - would’ve had more than enough reason to give him a lecture, but Anthony has always been more curious than wise.

However, the expected admonishment doesn’t come. Instead, Lord Thompson answers his question, and Anthony blinks at him before frowning slightly. A man of his status and his looks would have no difficulties, not to mention how he should be under hard pressure to find a pretty wife, would he not, if only to mark his place in society?

Then he thinks that maybe every girl’s father considers the Lord’s tendency to waste his fortune on the poor, which would make many reconsider an arrangement.

"I see," is all he says, though it is clear in his voice that Anthony is not really convinced, and a moment of silence passes in which he holds his employer’s gaze steadily. "I’m not the first you’ve presented into your household the way you did me, am I? ‘Tis a strange pastime, milord, to take in strays."

This time Jarvis had to practically physically hold back his laughter, covering his mouth just as a precaution. He meets the boy’s eyes straight on, uncaring that anyone looking on would consider Anthony’s actions as a gross lack of respect. Thankfully Elias knew his master better than to interrupt. It was blessedly refreshing to have someone be so candid, and yet in a manner that was not meant to be sneering or discouraging.

"You think charity to be an odd pastime? I consider it to be work that is desperately required," he does not grin, he can comport himself enough for that at least. “Well, you are certainly not alone in your thinking. Though to be quite honest I rarely employ a person into my household so quickly. Normally I assist them in finding jobs elsewhere, usually in the warehouses or other places. If I brought in every stray I found I fear my friends would make the sad decision to lock me up on Bethlem.”

Anthony blinks at the Lord - his Lord now, and what a strange thought still - surprised at the other’s confession. That does make him special, probably as in especially pitiful, but who knows? “What made you change your habits in my case, milord? You had no way of knowing that I could possibly be useful to you when you first offered to take me in.”

"Well, it would have been ideal if you had insisted on attempting to rob me on a different date," very true. Jarvis had already delayed his departure from the city by several days. "But I had little time to decide. You could say I went with my instincts on this. And really, even if it weren’t for the fact that you can read, I am certain the housekeeper would be able to find more than enough work for you."

The Lord’s reaction lets Anthony’s lips twitch into a hesitant smile, and he sends a side-look at the valet who seems more resigned to his fate than ready to pull Anthony out of the carriage by his ear, encouraging the young man to voice his thought.

"You thinking this way just means it is a pastime that suits you well, milord," Anthony replies, slightly bowing his head forward, aware he’s being incredibly bold once more, overstepping all kinds of boundaries just by implying that it’s a weird pastime for a weird noble, but so far Jarvis seems more than inclined to not only hear him out, but hear him out with a smile.

The boy just kept getting bolder and bolder. It was almost delightful, and surprising. Jarvis had known when he first saw the boy standing before him in the darkened kitchen that he was defiant, and smart. But the fact that he was now willing to show it, and to a peer of the realm on top of that. Despite his eccentricities the Lord Aitherton was considered far too influential to risk outright offending. Even dukes had balked at engaging in gossip about him. Few was the man or woman who spoke so candidly to him.

Anthony sends the blond a long look, not with anything specific in mind, but just to look, because the Earl is handsome enough to make it easy for Anthony to appreciate it even - or maybe especially - when perched with the other in a tiny compartment.

Jarvis forces himself to stay still under the other’s scrutiny. It wasn’t often that he was subject to another’s speculation, unless of course it was one of the many mothers seeking to marry their daughters off in an advantageous match. They eyed him far too much speculation for his tastes.

The young man sends the other a smile, satisfied for now with the replies he’s gotten from the other. “Okay. Thank you for indulging my curiosity.”

In response to the boy’s words Jarvis inclines his head, a smile still touching his lips as he turned to resume his reading. It was as he turned a page that a thought occurred to him.  
Reaching into his bag he pulled out another volume, one that was much sturdier, but also dear to his heart in that way a beloved story is. Perhaps he was wrong in his assumption that the other would appreciate the chance to read something uninhibited, but he hoped that the gesture would at the least be appreciated. He held the book out to the boy, watching Anthony’s face closely. “The ride to the inn will be long.”

Anthony gapes a bit at Jarvis offering him a book - but he catches himself quickly, smiling as he accepts the offered volume. “Thank you, milord.”  
The book is big, and obviously well read, maybe one of the lord’s favourites - curiously, Anthony studies the cover, and turns it to start reading.

The time after that passes largely in silence, the occasional comment or question breaking the monotony of the movement of the carriage and the sound of the horses in front. Thankfully the only bit of weather they experienced was a light drizzle.  
The sky is just lowering towards dusk when they pull up to the inn. It is a spacious building, the rooms well appointed and Jarvis looked forward to a warm meal. And thank the heavens he can finally get out of that contraption for longer than a small respite.

Accepting his valet’s help, somethings were just easier to accept so as to avoid the quiet looks his staff would give him, he steps down from the carriage, before turning to one of the footmen who had stepped forward upon their arrival to assist. “Please inform the kitchens that we will be taking our meal in my rooms.”

Open-mouthed staring seems an apt reaction to Anthony when he exits the carriage and gets one good look at the inn. It is— not what he was expecting when someone told him they would sleep at an inn. Just to imagine what one night, one bed alone, in this one costs is enough to make him swallow hard.  
Anthony spends another moment frowning at the building, then jumps forward, hand on the lord’s sleeve, to draw his attention - only when he’s already done so remembering that was inappropriate as well, and snatching his hand back quickly.  
"I’ll just sleep in the carriage," he hurries to say, "someone has to watch the horses, after all."

The tug on his sleeve comes as a surprise, though oddly enough the words that followed do not. Raising a brow he looks past the boy at the carriage, where his valet was instructing the wait staff on which trunks to bring down, before turning back to Anthony.

He should have thought about how the stray would feel, especially about staying in such an obviously opulent inn. Though he truly hopes that the lad wouldn’t insist on the same thing when they arrived at the manor. He always feels uncomfortable when one of his new employees tried to insist that they sleep out in the stables.

Rather than say all that out loud, he keeps his voice gentle as he responds. “I am afraid that cannot be done,” he says, trying to speak quickly before the boy can look too panicked. “The staff here have their own stable hands. In fact they pride themselves on seeing to their guests needs. Besides, I never have my staff sleep in the stables when there are perfectly serviceable quarters available,” here he tries to offer a reassuring smile. “However, if you feel uncomfortable sleeping in the inn you may stay in the servants accommodations. Braxton, our driver, prefers to stay there.”

Anthony has opened his mouth, the but ready to jump off his tongue, before Jarvis has even finished his first sentence, but doesn’t bring himself to interrupt what the lord is saying. He snaps his mouth shut when the blond finishes, frowning at him, looking back at the carriage, then turning his head to face Jarvis again. “The servants accommodations, then,” he replies, a little sullenly, as if he was admitting some kind of defeat.  
Surely having him sleep there should at least offer some relief in the amount of money the Earl will spend just to sleep tonight.

The lord’s smile turns a touch sad but he inclines his head. He turns back briefly to the driver, speaking to him in quiet tones. He knew that the lodging supplied for attendants were clean and warm, the food a touch more rustic but still good. And so he had few qualms about paying for another bed.

Truth be told he was not surprised that the boy had resisted staying in his sleeping quarters. Really, he should have had the foresight to arrange it beforehand.

There’s the slight pang of regret Anthony refuses to admit in existence, when he learns this means he won’t eat with the lord, nor see him before the morning, but he feels it’s the right thing for him to do -  
and that point of view he refuses to budge from even after spending the night, greeting Jarvis with hardly more than a nod (he’s strangely tired), and getting in the carriage again without a tiny bit of complaining.

At first there was concern, Jarvis knew that the inn took as much care of the servants of their visitors as they did their guests. Perhaps the set up was not as opulent, the room more containing more of a dorm like atmosphere, but Braxton had assured him that the boy had not been harassed down there.

And then, as he looks up from his page to Anthony, he sees a sight that causes a smile to tug at his lips yet again - Anthony had fallen asleep, his head landing on Elias’ shoulder. The boy was always so on guard; he could recognise a mask when he saw one, after all he had worn enough over the years. But now, now he was relaxed, peaceful. Jarvis did not know what he was expecting, but to see the lad so peaceful was a far more pleasant surprise.

Trying to hide a chuckle at Elias’s put upon expression, Jarvis returned to his book, eyes occasionally glancing over the top of the page to watch the stray as he slept.  
A particularly rocky part of the path gives the carriage enough of a rattling that Anthony’s head slides off the valet’s shoulder, letting him wake with a start - disoriented for a moment before he realises what must’ve just happened, and then mumbles an apology towards the valet.

Oh, goodness, is that a smile Jarvis is hiding behind that book? The thought lets Anthony’s cheeks heat up. To have let the lord seen him in that embarrassing of a position— “How long until we reach the mansion?” he asks aloud, directing the question at nobody in particular, willing himself to stop imagining all kinds of things he could’ve done - or said - in his sleep.

Oh that blush was— Jarvis cut the thought off quickly, instead quickly glancing out the window. The countryside was as familiar to him as his very own home. “We have perhaps another hour until we arrive,” he said the words with a distant look as he calculated the distance. At least the weather had begun to lighten. He hoped that the summer would be a good one.

"Another hour," Anthony repeats, trying not to sound as bored by the prospect as he feels, watching Jarvis’ fingers tapping against the book’s cover.

“When we arrive I shall instruct the staff to draw you up a bath.”

"A bath?" That’s it, he’ll be made a pet. Brushed and perfumed into something acceptable to be the earl’s dog (if anyone gets him a leash he will… do something), further violated by maids. Before he realises what he’s doing, Anthony is shaking his head. “I— thank you, milord, but that is not— I don’t—” He is almost subconsciously pushing back into the corner of the compartment, as if hoping it will absorb him or at least allow him to hide.  
Bath sounds little more than vaguely ominous to the brunette.

Jarvis’s only reaction is to raise an eyebrow. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Elias trying to stifle his own laughter, but he chooses to ignore it for the moment. Instead he continues to watch Anthony in amused bewilderment.

"I had assumed you would like one considering that I had not given you the time either this morning or the day before," he believed he understood why Anthony had not taken advantage of the baths at the inn, perhaps afraid of extra costs (even though it was included) or intimidated by sharing the room with so many others. But now he was just perplexed.

"Now that we have the time, of course, I had assumed you would want to finally be clean," as he said it he was eyeing the boy’s hair and a smudge of dirt he could see just below one ear. Most of the staff that traveled with him took advantage of the luxury of a hot bath when they arrived, anything to wash away the weariness that travel brought.

Squirming uncomfortably in his seat, Anthony’s gaze is everywhere but on the earl’s face. “It’s not— I don’t like water,” he mumbles, fiddling nervously. It’s not the entire truth - Anthony is fine with water, both drinking it and using buckets to shower himself with in the warmer days, when that doesn’t mean freezing to death, but being immersed just provokes negative flashbacks.

(Children on the streets can be cruel, especially if one smaller than them has food. He supposes he should be grateful they didn’t have the opportunity to dunk his head into a toilet instead, but the wariness of being surrounded by water subsists.)

"Dirt I am well used to," and why does it feel as if he’s admitting to a shameful secret? God. Anthony knows Jarvis is just looking at a spot on him that has dirt on it, and he self-consciously lifts a hand to rub at his neck. No way of knowing what the earl is looking at just from guessing.

Well, that explained some things. Not every thing, but some things. Gazing out the window for a time Jarvis listens to the boy, and tries to interpret what he is not saying. Jarvis may be an idealist, but he is hardly naive. He is more than aware of what life on the streets must be like, even if there are many times when he appears to forget. A life lived in comfort can never really allow a person to understand the desperation of abject poverty.

"You need not take a full bath, if it makes you so uncomfortable. But Sharon, the housekeeper, will insist that you wash thoroughly before she gives you any sort of work. She does this to everyone, even the stable hand," his gaze is pensive as he stares out at the rolling landscape.

The question (“how would that work?”) is already on the tip of his tongue when Anthony thinks better of it, snapping his mouth shut and nodding instead, signalling his understand. “Thank you.”

All in all, being clean doesn’t sound like such a bad thing. It sounds more like another luxury to Anthony - and maybe he should try getting used to the idea that this might be happening more often around him now. He’s a little worried about how easy it will be to get used to it - to soft beds, warm meals and clean clothes. It will make him dependent on the Earl’s generosity, and surely that is not a thing that he should let himself indulge in?

"I shall work with Miss Sharon, then?"

"When I do not require your services with my correspondence she will be the one to direct your work. Her name is Sharon Bailey, and she occupies the position of Housekeeper. Most likely she will have you performing odd jobs around the house. Cleaning, rearranging, she will also pester you to see if you might be able to repair some items. But do not worry, if you are unable to complete the task she will not hold it against you."

In fact the woman had been after him to hire someone to that effect, but he continually neglected to do so. She would be most put out with him that he had not taken the opportunity while in London to find someone willing to take a commission at the mansion.

Ah. Anthony smiles a little, giving an easy, one-sided shrug. “Repairing things definitely sounds like the most interesting task you just mentioned, milord.”

Because he will clean and dust off the Earl’s palace if that will get him fed and all, but goodness, does it sound boring. Now if someone gives him a screwdriver and tells him to go wild on a cupboard or what-have-you - that sounds like fun. (Unlikely to happen like that, but still.)

His eyes sharpen at the mention that repairing things sounded like fun. Head tilting to the side he studies the boy. “Have you done things like that before? Fixing the door on a cabinet? Or repairing an end table?” If so then the boy was practically a hidden gem. Both literate and skilled.

"Cabinets, yeah, whatever I could fix for a warm meal - end tables are a bit tricky, usually they need an entire drawer replaced, and I never had those materials at my disposal - but I hacked wood for money before. All kinds of things. I couldn’t rely on physical strength, so it had to be my hands and my brain instead."

Anthony looks down at his hands before meeting the Earl’s gaze again. “I’ve got nimble fingers. Surely if you need things fixed I could make myself useful there, milord.”

"If that is so then I can assure you that Sharon will be more than delighted by your addition to the household. She has been trying to find someone to do those types of odd jobs around the house for some years now," which was an added bonus for the young earl as he now would not have to worry about trying to hire someone to that effect.

"That sounds good," Anthony agrees, giving a tiny nod. If he can put his fingers to use, he won’t have to worry that much about perfecting his writing skill - not that he has any doubt that he will, but it will probably take time, and patience has never been Anthony’s strong suit.

There’s a small pause, because Anthony can’t think of how to word this that it doesn’t sound offensive, but eventually takes a deep breath to plunge right in: “Milord, out of curiosity - who else in your household has been picked off the street?”

"A few of the staff. Not as many as I am accused, however. Our driver and his family had been nearly driven to the poor house when we met. A few of the servants in the country estate. A bit less at the townhouse," for obvious reasons. Most of the people he hired personally had to prove their loyalty. "Most of the, well, charity cases? It sounds insensitive. But anyways, most of those cases are brought to me more because of financial troubles. For instance one boy needed work to help pay his aunt’s medical expenses."

At the wording charity cases Anthony smiles wryly, though perks up at the mention of a boy. Maybe that could be someone that could relate to how surreal and absurd this whole situation feels to Anthony. “Is he my age?”

"His name is Peter Parker, and yes, he’s around your age. Perhaps a touch younger. He lives with his aunt in the village closest to the manor."

Anthony takes in the information about this Peter with curiosity, hoping that maybe that boy will be a person in the household that he can openly talk to. All the servants he’s met so far, while without malicious intent, seem much too distant for that sort of thing.

"Ah, just— another question, milord, if I’m allowed, how much is it? The jars I destroyed, how much will it cost to replace them all?" Anthony is talking fast, his words almost stumbling across each other, a clear sign of him not knowing if he wants to hear the answer at all. All that food would’ve fed him for about a week, maybe longer, if he was smart about it.

Jarvis had been dreading this question. Trying to a grimace he forced himself to look at the boy. Really, it was selfish, he didn’t want to see anymore distress on the lad’s face. He had seen it on the stray’s face every time another expense was made, even though he had tried to assure him that none of these things would be tallied into his current debt. But he still did not want to give him the bad news.

"Unfortunately there is an unusual complication to this matter," he was trying to find the kindest way to say it. But in the end there was simply no way around it. "I want you to understand that the staff had been readying the town house for my absence; meaning that the kitchen was not stocked in the same way it normally would be. And— unfortunately," that word again. "Those canned goods you broke were of much finer stock than normal. Most of the food you ruined were… quite costly. Most of them imported."

Finally he spoke the number, wincing even as he said it. The price of the food would have been enough to keep a family fed on ordinary goods for half a year if they bought wisely. And he was almost ashamed that these things had been in his pantry. But sometimes it was necessary to wine and dine the elite.

Anthony pales, pressing his lips together and averting his gaze - there is nothing he can say to that. No saying how many years of working he’ll do to make up for it.

Might as well sell his soul while he’s at it.

"If I’d known," he starts, and breaks off again immediately. Even if he had, what would it have changed? There’s no way he could have foreseen the events unraveling the way they did. Reminding himself to breathe, he drags a hand through his hair, nodding once, grimly. “You’re gonna have to keep me around for a while, milord.”

"Well, not years,” not if working for him made the boy absolutely miserable. He was certain he could think of something that would allow the boy to keep both pride and happiness. “But yes, a long time,” he finally conceded. “There is a bright side, not all of the food you destroyed was of the expensive variety, just… a hefty majority,” and did that make him feel guilty. Even more so that he had had such things in his kitchens in the first place.

Add to that the cost of keeping him fed, letting him sleep in a warm bed, occupying the staff with cleaning him up— it hardly bears thinking about. Part of Anthony wants to apologise, badly, because what else can he do, but then at the same time he feels that would be cheap, and he’s not trying to provoke the Earl’s pity.  
He doesn’t need pity.

Jarvis watches Anthony with chagrin. “If it is any consolation your skills with reading and maintenance will mean an even higher income than would normally be offered,” at the very least his debt would be cleared just that small amount faster and then the boy could… leave. Escape the circumstances that had forced them together. The thought saddened him, which was ridiculous as he had only known the boy for two days now.

Looking up at the other, Anthony wonders what that undertone means. The Earl looks sorry for him all the same, which in turn makes the young man square his shoulders.

He is nothing if not stubborn.

"I understand, milord," he offers, thinking of how at least, this will ensure he will live in luxury for quite a while. Probably long enough to not be able to easily go back to his former life, but if he does perfect his writing skill, which he intends to (someone will probably let themselves be convinced to tutor him, and even if he has to do it himself, he’ll get there eventually), maybe he won’t have to.

People being able to read and write are sought-after, though not in the streets, it could be enough to get him a simple (boring) office job. But - focusing on the near future, Anthony thinks he might come to like working for the Earl. this too-nice-for-his-own-good person. “I shall not disappoint you,” he says, at the same time wondering where those words had come from, surprised to find that he means it.

The lord’s eyes and smile are gentle as he nods in acceptance, his attention distracted as the carriage finally pulled up to the front of his country estate. Tossing a half smile in the boy’s direction he accepted his Valet’s assistance out of the vehicle and stood, stretching the stiffness of travel from his limbs.

The household staff had lined themselves up before the steps to greet their lord. Gesturing for Anthony to follow him he walked straight to his housekeeper, taking just enough time to nod in greeting and thanks to the assembled staff.

In low tones he explained about his new employee, leaving out many of the details to facilitate expediency. He was certain Elias and the driver would fill everyone in on the story in due time.

Focusing more on the house than the row of servants, Anthony jumps out of the carriage, studying the manor, tilting his head this way and that way mostly to get the stiffness out of his neck. Looking back at it, falling asleep with a head on Elias’ shoulder probably wasn’t such a bright idea.

Eventually his curiosity makes it impossible to ignore the servants any longer, gaze settling on a boy - Peter? - before wandering over to the lord and the blond lady he is talking to in muted tones. He’s considering if he maybe is allowed to approach the boy to say hi when the woman’s eyes land on him, and he is beckoned forward, feeling suspicious of the gesture as he does step forward, staying standing next to the lord.

She gives him a thorough once over, pursing her pink lips, before nodding at the lord. “No worries, we shall get him clean for work.” Sharon, Anthony’s mind supplies, and the young man throws Jarvis a look, only slightly pleading. “I can wash mys—”

But Sharon just tuts, grabbing a hold of one of his wrists. “Don’t speak nonsense, Anthony,” and then starts dragging him away, the look on Anthony’s face increasingly perplexed. Oh, dear.

As Sharon herds Anthony away Jarvis turns to the business of updating himself on the state of the household. Speaking to the butler as he walks to the study. There was nearly always something trying to catch his attention, though how it always managed to find him so soon he would never now.

You don’t know what humiliation is until you’ve stood naked in an empty bathtub with maids scurrying all around, and not even the cold water that Sharon lets wash over his head helps with the violent blush on Anthony’s cheeks - but it does let his teeth chatter, and then there are multiple brushes at work all around him and—  
—all in all, Anthony decides, bathing is uncomfortable. (“That would be because you were too busy covering yourself up to relax,” Sharon replied in that voice of hers Anthony was quickly learning meant ‘your mess, your problem’ when the young man complained vaguely.)

The next thing he knows, he’s dressed and being dragged around the manor - fix that cupboard, look at that fireplace, what do you feel we can do to stop that shelf from rattling? Sharon doesn’t say it, but it’s clear in her expression that she’s pleased with him and he’s passed her tests when she decides to release him for the day, promising to have a more thorough to do-list at the ready for him tomorrow.

"Who can teach me to write?" he asks her, just before she shoves him into the dining room, and the blond woman sends him a surprised look. "If you want something to be read or written, best go to Lord Thompson himself." That lets Anthony deflate a little - he can hardly ask the lord to invest his own time of day in him - but he’s got no real time to brood, as there’s already a kitchen boy looking up at him with big eyes asking him to help set the table.  
Well. If they trust him with the food…

\---

"Marcus, I believe I will take that bath now," Jarvis had gotten caught up in the work. Casting a look at the clock he was relieved to see that it had only been half an hour since he had begun work. Although his muscles protested as if it had been hours.

Luxuriating in a warm bath was the closest to heaven Jarvis believed he would get. All the aches and pains from travel and stress melting away in the heat of the water. He didn’t even bother to open his eyes at the sounds of his valet laying out his robe and drying clothes. His movements are verging on lazy when he picks up the bar of lightly scented soap and begins the process to washing the dirt and grime of the road from his skin.

When he finally emerges from the bath the water has started to cool. Grabbing up one of the cloths Elias had laid out earlier, methodically patting himself dry. With a grateful murmur he accepted Elias’s help into the robe, tying it securely as he went to take a seat before the small desk in his rooms.

With a sigh he rested his head against one palm. “Elias, do you have any word on how well our young stray is handling the household?”

He is answered with a soft chuckle as Elias responds. “Sharon and her gang of maids decided to ambush him with a bath,” there is a cool amusement in the valet’s voice. “Rumour tells me that the boy looked like a sad kitten as they kept dumping water over his head,” at the description Jarvis tries to hold back a chuckle of his own.

"And let me guess, our Mrs. Bailey then proceeded to drag him around the house for all those little projects she has been itching to have completed," he smiles as he speaks, then forced himself to stand up, accepting Elias’s help again to don suitable attire.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Anthony doesn't make an appearance in this chapter, but instead we get introduced to Loki Friggason, written by the incredible [Yas](http://yasarivixen.tumblr.com/).)

It is at a social function in the early summer that the Earl of Aitherton meets his friend, Lord Loki Friggason, and sits down to have a chat with him about the state of his household over tea and crumpets.

“I have taken a new person into my employ. He is quite skilled at reading. I hope to be able to take him on as my secretary. If his writing skills can improve of course.”

Loki hardly reacts to those news, busying himself by adopting the expression of ultimate boredom. “Low born, then? I can only gather so by your note on his reading skills. Why you take such filth into your home I shall never know, and thankfully, have no interest in knowing.”

In reply to that - they’ve been over this exact topic before - Jarvis rolls his eyes, his voice dry: “Well, considering that I have yet to find a secretary from the middle class who is honest. This one at least has so far proven more trustworthy than the last person I employed. Even if I only met him because he was trying to rob my kitchen.”

“…how is his attempted robbing of your kitchen a sign of being trustworthy? I do not know if you understand what “trustworthy” means but that is not it. You should hand him over to the authorities if not I,” the dark-haired noble says, in a manner that suggests he’s merely thinking aloud, and his blond friend is being silly again.

Thankfully, being friends with the man, Jarvis is long used to the somewhat condescending tone, knowing better than to take it personally.  
“My dear Lord Friggason, there is absolutely no way that I would turn someone guilty only of desperate hunger over to your sense of justice. Besides, I can assure you the housekeeper has been making more than certain that he is working to repay me for the food he ruined.”

“Innocent? He did attempt to steal from you, did he not? Hungry or otherwise, the boy is a thief, a failed thief but no less guilty of crime. He should be punished and yet you employ him. I wager that once he is given enough freedom about your home, he shall steal the most expensive item he may find and pawn it off. Besides, Lord Thompson, I do a public service with my justice.”

Lord Thompson sighs deeply, lifting his tea cup. “He has had more than ample opportunity to steal from me. In fact he could have done it the first night after I caught him,” he muses aloud, giving the other a small smile. “My instincts about people are rarely wrong. Not that you would trust something like instincts.”

“Perhaps he already has and you have yet to notice a missing jewel or the like? You would merely be giving him ample opportunity to take more from you.” Loki raises an eyebrow at the other as if vaguely offended. “I do trust my instincts, more than you might realise.”

Jarvis just smiles wryly. “I do now dread the day that you choose to pay me a visit and come face to face with my new employee.”

“It could prove to be entertaining, to say the very least. I do love to intimidate new employees and guests.” The grin Lord Friggason is wearing spells trouble. “Perhaps I might even call upon you sometime within the week without announcement, just to give you a surprise.”

Jarvis is not impressed by those words and lets the other know with a look, which sadly doesn’t faze the other in the slightest. “That would be quite rude. You know Mrs. Wright would be quite put out that she’d not enough warning to put together a proper tea service or meal for you. She does so dislike disappointing guests.”

“Another reason to make it a surprise!” Loki laughs. “Your employees do need a bit of excitement in their comfortable lives; I like to believe I bring that for them. And, old friend, since when have you known me to care for being rude?”

“Sadly, never. In fact you seem to thrive on it. All the more when it can create a commotion among the ton.”

“Correct you are. However now I fear you know me too well.”

“An unfortunate side effect from actually bothering to take the time to interact with me,” Jarvis says with a smile. “And yet considering how often you sneer at my charity projects one would wonder why you bother.”

“I do blame our mothers for having us interact too often as children. The social life of women seems to be one in need of constant attention.” Lord Friggason shakes his head. “Which leads to the outcome that you are the only person who does not take offence to my rudeness nor wishes me to marry their daughter.”

Jarvis pulls a face. “I believe that even were I to have a daughter that I would not attempt to marry her off to you. I know you too well. Perhaps my greatest eccentricity is the fact that I can actually tolerate your personality.”

“Years of tempering no doubt,” Loki replies, matching Jarvis’ tone in dryness, nodding solemnly. “Perhaps this is indeed why you put up with my constant scorn of your charity; if you had someone encouraging you, you would no doubt end poor.”

“Heavens forbid. I have been reliably informed that I would not last a second upon the streets. Besides you underestimate Ms. Potts’ determination to fill my coffers to the brim. Sometimes I truly wonder if she robs entire continents of their supply.”

“Well she certainly does not rob mine,” Loki says simply, frowning a little. “You should worry not - I would not allow you to wander the streets for I would promptly employ you to clean my floors,” he continues with a smile.

“I think I would rather brave the streets than have you popping out of nowhere criticising my scrubbing technique,” Jarvis replies with another eye roll, “besides, I believe the Cage’s young daughter would snatch me up first. She seems of the firm belief that I am an excellent tea party companion.”

Lord Friggason laughs once more, pointing at his friend with his empty tea cup. “Oh, I do pity you on that account. You might find it a good idea to promptly leave the country with naught a word. Make your lack of intentions clear and quickly. …I assume you have no intentions to the clingy girl?“ He leans forward a bit, obviously interested in the answer.

“Considering that she is a mere child? Hardly,” Jarvis replies and lightly whacks Loki’s arm. “Be glad that Lord Cage and his wife are not about to hear such things,” he says sternly, but with a smile. “Well, if things become too dire I could always run away to the colonies, I hear they are easily talked out of their money there. Especially if they think they could link themselves to royalty.”

“Be glad that we are men and not women who could easily be betrothed at young ages - the colonies?” Loki frowns deeply. “What a horrid thought, living there, you would do much better in France I think. Ugh, the colonies, how dirty they are, uncultured; your new pet might do well there.”

“France is hardly better,” Jarvis replies, and looks at the other with a raised brow. “Especially considering that they only recently cut the heads off their aristocracy not twenty years ago. And especially since that fallout from that Napoleon fellow.”

“And yet they keep very nice food,” the Lord Friggason interjects, shrugging. “Their politics are hardly of my concern.”

“It should be if it concerns your well-being.”

“If the people did try anything I would merely bring my dogs out, they love a good hunt.”

Jarvis sighs and tries not to facepalm. “Some day you are going to offend a prince or foreign dignitary and cause a war, I am certain of it.”

Loki’s lips quirk in amusement. “It would be my greatest accomplishment to date!”

Deciding against trying to argue, Jarvis simply rolls his eyes.

“You might think me impossible to deal with at times and yet you keep doing so. Soon I would start thinking you like it,” Loki comments, again unfazed by Jarvis’ show of disapproving.

“Perhaps I am merely taking pity on you. Then again, you had boasted to me in your last letter that you had acquired several new additions to your library. So I may simply put up with because of the books.”

“Oh? Have I been buying your friendship without knowing it? Ah, I knew there was a secret reason as to your continuous seeking me out at gathers.”

“Well, the books you lend me are truly fascinating.”

“As they should be; they are highly expensive, at least to people of… lower status,” Loki explains, throwing the people around them a disdainful look, making Jarvis having to stifle a laugh.

“If I am not mistaken that man over there is the fifth duke of Pemberlin, and that woman over there is a Marquess. Hardly a group of lower class workers.”

Lord Friggason scoffs, not impressed by the argument. “They are still low compared to I.”

“Isn’t everyone?” Jarvis asks with a laconic tone. “I would wager you even consider the King beneath you. At least in intelligence.”

“Does that not go without saying?”

Jarvis sighs and shakes head amusedly. “Away from the topic of royalty. I have obtained a particularly fascinating treatise on the history of Ottoman’s early rulers.”

This piques the Lord Friggason’s curiosity, as he leans forward again. “Oh, have you now?” 

“Indeed, along with a book detailing about culture among the Japanese aristocracy. I have been attempting to translate it from its original Japanese.”

“Would you like some help in that? I imagine it to be a highly amusing task.”

“If you so desire. I have found it quite entertaining.”

“Excellent, more reason to visit.”

Sipping at his now-cold tea, Jarvis sighs. “That poor boy.”

Loki just laughs, biting into his crumpet.


	6. Chapter 6

“Anthony!”

He snatches his hand away from the plate as if he’d burnt himself, turning to the cook that’s standing almost right next to him, hands on his hips, with a slight pout.

"I didn’t touch it.”

"You were going to.”

"Well—" But Anthony can’t actually argue with that, so he just follows a particularly fascinating dust particle floating around with his eyes instead, and the cook sighs, pointing at Anthony with a spoon.

"Just take it to the dining room, it’s the last one, Lord Thompson is already there. And no nibbling!”

The last sentence follows Anthony as he walks out of the kitchen, trying and failing to suppress a chuckle as he enters the dining room. “Milord, your cold platter, completely untouched,” he announces and puts the plate on the table (he only dropped food on the dining table once and lived to sorely regret it).

To Jarvis, the fact that his household insisted on setting out a full dinner for their lord often made him feel quite uncomfortable. It was one thing when there were guests about, or when his parents had still been alive. But to insist on the full trappings when it was only him seemed a waste. Still, on occasion he felt the need to humour his cook and staff and allow them the opportunity to treat him to a full-course meal.

So it is understandable that it almost comes as a relief when the kitchen apparently decides it is a good idea to set Anthony to serving the food. With his entrance the dining room suddenly feels less empty. And the boy’s constant informality sets the young lord suddenly at ease.

“I’ve somehow been promoted to kitchenaid,” Anthony continues, and then worries his lower lip. “May I sit?”

"Please do," Jarvis offers his sudden guest an easy smile. He takes a moment to contemplate the food, suddenly wishing he’d had the foresight to request a simple meal.

"The cook must have decided you can be trusted, at least somewhat," which is good. It’s a good thing that Anthony is being welcomed into the household. And if he feels a little twist in his stomach over the fact that this means he no longer gets to spend as much time around the other, well, only he needs to know.

The wording lets Anthony chuckle lightly, dropping his shoulders in a shrug. “I still get occasionally a spatula to my fingers, so I don't think 'trust' is the word I'd use— milord.”

"If it is any consolation, the cook will still take a spatula my fingers if I try to swipe any food before he has deemed it ready," he laughs at the memories of the days when he would sneak into the kitchens to steal a treat or five. Sadly he rarely had the time to attempt to indulge in such antics today. They would now be frowned upon, considering his status. Though sometimes he sorely missed them.

Anthony chuckles at the image of the Earl himself getting swatted at, and it makes him wonder what the blond was like as a child. Really, he can’t picture anything but a blond boy that tries his best to please his parents or the servants in charge of him.

Jarvis picks at the food, finally eating a little before pushing the plate closer to the other in a clear invitation, and Anthony immediately digs in, not quite having managed to abandon the habit of eating quickly, as if he’d have to hurry or otherwise someone would take the food away from him. For some reason, the Earl easily accepts Anthony’s continued presence at the table during meals, which - for Anthony - poses a bit of a conundrum, but the other servants seem to accept with little more than an eye-roll.

(Anthony really doesn’t have the manners to make for appropriate company at the dinner table, and he knows it.)

"I was wondering," he begins, and then remembers to swallow, "milord— if you knew someone to help me work on my writing." Taking a stick to the dirt by the stables gets him raised eyebrows from Peter every time and come on, does he have to deal with getting judged like this?  
(Peter thinks he’s being a chicken for not asking directly. But, well, paper is costly…)

“I would be more than happy to assist,” Jarvis says. Hadn’t he made it clear back at the Townhouse that he would be more than willing to train the boy?  
And having the excuse of helping Anthony with his letters would allow him a welcome reprieve from the tedium of his work. And divert his mind from the constant barrage of invitations and requests to visit from every parent with a daughter of marriageable age in the Ton. Barely even three days and the letters and missives had found him so quickly.

"Ah," Anthony replies to the other offering, a hand coming up to scratch at his neck, while sheepishly lowering his gaze. "I don’t know, milord, if I can ask of you to invest your time in me, too. It seems too much to ask of you, all things considered." After all, he would be the only one in the manor to get that sort of special treatment - not that he doesn’t get that anyway, what with sitting here and eating with his lord.

"Why am I the one getting the special treatment?" Well. Anthony could’ve put that a little more sensible than just blurting it out, but what can he say, it happens. “I mean, taking me in and all seems the logical course of action for you, but you’re really spoiling me, or so it feels anyways—”

He waves around, vaguely indicating the dinner table, but the young man’s voice lowers itself when he speaks up next, a little more subdued. “It’s really not necessary, milord, you don’t need to feel obligated to do more for me than you already did.”

A strange expression crosses the lord’s features at the question. Though he should have expected it at some point. After all, common altruism only extended so far. And as the boy had said, he supposed he was spoiling the boy. But how could he answer something he himself had barely even contemplated or realised.

"It’s not—," oh but the words would not come. Finally he settled on the simplest explanation he felt he could voice. "Because you are the only one willing to ask," he says. And it is true.

He is the only one of the household servants who has ever asked to sit at the dining table with him. The only one to seek to improve their writing skills. Elias had a fair hand, but he always declined Jarvis’s offers to share his library or improve his letters. And Anthony was the only one willing to treat him as an equal.

"I suppose I forget my place."

"I make you forget your place?" Anthony sounds delighted, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Does that have something to do with how I don’t know mine? That’s what I’m being told, anyways.”

He leans back comfortably, having satisfied his hunger, and lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I suppose in that case— thank you, milord. Rest assured it would be highly appreciated if you did teach me. Though if you want this lessons to happen in the mornings, you’ll probably have to have me woken.”

The whole household has probably noticed Anthony’s capacity of spending well over 12 hours in bed, quite the opposite of the young lord’s own sleeping habits, which Sharon has repeatedly complained about in Anthony’s presence as being ‘worrying’.

(Only to turn on Anthony and accuse him of being a sloth, which he’d always deny indignantly and make sure the next project she has in store for him is finished in record time. She probably does it on purpose, too. But hey, it works.)

"No, we can have them in the evenings."

In fact it had been the young lord himself who had urged Mrs. Bailey to allow Anthony to sleep rather than forcing him to wake up at the blush of dawn as she had wanted. Then again he tried to encourage all of his employees to sleep til decent hours.

"Very generous, milord," Anthony drawls back, in an excellent mood and feeling up to tease the Earl a little now. It’s probably good for him. Nobody else bothers to do it around here.

And Jarvis always gets that little smile when Anthony says something outrageous to his face, which makes it all the more tempting. Who can blame Anthony, really?

"It seems that Sharon has been quite pleased with the work with you have been doing for her," Jarvis knew this because she pestered him less than usual. In fact on occasion he caught her smiling at the boy’s work. So really, she must be more than pleased with the current state of the manor.

That woman could rival a society mother with how much she worried about keeping his manor just so. It would be disconcerting if it wasn’t simply endearing.

Anthony sits back, surprised. “She did—,” he begins and then shakes his head, smiling. “Oh, but she didn’t say that, did she?” 

Praise from Sharon doesn’t come in many flowery words. Sometimes she takes a look at what Anthony did and will say ‘good’, but so far that seems her highest form of praise.

Jarvis smiled that small smile of his when Anthony proved how well he had learned to read Sharon and the rest of the staff. It normally took his new employees weeks before they adjusted to the housekeeper’s abrupt nature. But then, Anthony had already proven he was in possession of a quick wit. Even if his thieving skills left much to be desired.

Of course, Anthony is determined to see whether he can make her say something better than that. “I get the distinct impression she will always manage to find something in here that needs fixing, no matter how fast I work. Do you give your employees days off?”

"Typically employees are given two days off. Sunday is standard, though I know of some who request to at least work half days. As well as any other day of your choosing. Did Sharon or the others not tell you this already?" They should have. As the head of household staff it was part of Sharon’s duties to learn which days employees preferred to take off and left to Elias to coordinate now.

It meant that she assumed Tony occupied a different status in the house, Jarvis realised. And that was quite intimidating.  
And highly unusual.

What did the staff think of Anthony that they treated him so differently. He knew Sharon had been ecstatic to gain the boy’s skills. But…  
No best to leave off this train of thought. He could question Elias at a later time.

"If you have a particular day in mind you may tell me and I can arrange it in the work schedule."

"Oh, that’s not why I’m asking," Anthony objects, shaking his head determinedly before smiling up at the Earl. "Besides, I don’t need two days off, I’d get bored, I suppose Sharon knows that. If I get an afternoon every now and then at the stables - Peter is trying to convince me to let him teach me to ride a horse, but I’m not convinced they are trustworthy, the horses that is, though I’m not sure Peter is that trustworthy in that aspect either - then that is enough for me. No, what I meant is," he pauses, quite aware of the dramatic effect, and leans forward, chin in his hand.  
"You’re forgetting to give yourself days off, milord.”

Anthony looks proud of himself, as if he’d just delivered the perfect line, making it an open challenge, to see whether Lord Thompson has anything to say to that.

"That’s something that should be arranged in the work schedule, is it not?"

"I—"

Jarvis could barely imagine the spectacle he made of himself, gaping at the boy in helpless shock. But what could he say to that? That he considered the times to had to play call to society functions as time off? Even though he knew that he came back home even more exhausted and drained than when he worked hours at a time sorting accounts and managing expenses.  
Or that he considered those late hours in the night, when he finally felt secure enough to sit down and lose himself in a book as more than enough time for rest?

Thinking he has a choice between giggling at the Earl’s face and distracting himself with food, Anthony grabs another slice of bread, munching it almost violently, despite the way his stomach is comfortably full.

Goodness, that look on his Earl’s face.

Anthony absently thinks he would have liked to freeze that moment, make the Earl sit still with that look on his face for however long it took to take a picture, and then put it on his bedside table - it would no doubt make him laugh every time he saw it…

Finally Jarvis offers the other a weak smile.

"I am the lord of the manor," it is a weak excuse, but all that he can think of. "We are known for our idleness. I spend much of my days sitting to tea and chatting with acquaintances," though that he could not call them friends said much. "Would you not call those idle hours?"

Still munching on his bread, Anthony focuses on the blond’s face, making a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. “Idle, yes,” he says eventually, tilting his head. “But being idle isn’t the same as enjoying yourself and being able to walk away from your work, which is what I personally associate with days off, milord.”

What do you do when you’re in the services of a noble who doesn’t know how to enjoy themselves? ”Do you know how to ride a horse, milord?”  
Try to suggest something fun to do, of course.

The boy has a point. A point Jarvis knows others has tried to make before, but the young lord just found he could never really accept that as an excuse to do seemingly nothing.

Though he can’t help but smile at the question. “I am quite an accomplished rider,” he should be, he’d been tutored in dressage and riding since he was a boy. “Equally so with hunting, though I do not really care much for the sport,” no, hunting down animals was nothing he enjoyed. Even if he was content to eat the meat after.

"Why, are you implying that you would trust me more to teach you to ride one of those beasts than Mr. Parker?" he could see where Anthony was going with this conversation, and he couldn’t say that it wasn’t a bad idea. He did enjoy riding, after all. Even if he did not often get the chance to ride simply for his own pleasure anymore.

"Naturally," Anthony replies without an ounce of hesitation. "You’ve much less inclination to provoke the horse just to have me falling face-first into mud puddles and laugh at me. And it is natural to be wary of sitting on something that could decide to lie down and squish you, in my opinion."

"Oh, horses are not nearly half as bad as you seem to believe," he grins, not even bothering to hold back a chuckle at the scene the boy was painting. Then again Jarvis was perhaps a bit biased towards the creatures, as he had practically grown up around them.

Anthony makes a ‘what can you do’ gesture and smiles a little. “Well, it’s only a possibility if it would be fun for you, really, since I’m trying to find something fun here, milord. But then again, when I accidentally fall into mud puddles, you can thoroughly enjoy the view of me covered in dirt.”

Well, as far as fun activities go, it’s probably not ideal, but it’s the best Anthony can think of. “If you’d like to spend your free day that way, milord, that should be arranged in the work schedule. Not that— I don’t mean to pressure you into anything you don’t feel like doing.”

"No, no, I would be more than happy to have the excuse to ride more for pleasure than because it is part of yet another social gathering," and teaching Anthony would certainly be less like work and more fun. "I suppose I could try to arrange my work schedule so that I am afforded some time away from work.”

The smile Tony smiles lets something in Jarvis' stomach flutter uncomfortably, so he looks away, to hide his own small smile.

"Good," Anthony says simply, and lets it rest.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This manor isn't big enough for the both of us," Lord Friggason says, slapping a glove in Anthony's face.
> 
> (Yes, that's the chapter summary.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Loki Friggason has again been written by the fantastic (I like my adjectives) [Yas](http://yasarivixen.tumblr.com/).)

Loki sat in his carriage with a smirk on his face, cane by his side, suited up proper and gloved hands; he was on his way to Jarvis’ and had intentionally not sent word about his visit, regardless he knew he would be well received, such events were hardly uncommon when involving him (besides, he wanted to meet this thieving rat his friend had adopted). The dark carriage came to a stop on a gravelled road, having reached its destination; someone had no doubt seen him coming from the window as he did not have to wait for his door to open so he could hop out. Cane following every step (you never knew when you would have to hit someone) the front doors were opened to him and he stayed put, waiting for his friend to be summoned to greet him, a smirk on his face.

The Earl was not surprised when a footman came in to notify him that the Lord Friggason had arrived. In fact he had been expecting it; even going to far as to make certain the cook always had something on hand for an afternoon tea.

With a sigh he left his work and went down to greet his old friend, a more genuine smile of greeting touching his face as he walked into the foyer.

"Really now, Loki, you needn't be so dramatic. Would it hurt you just once to not pose like a looming figure while you wait?"

"I daresay it would hurt, my countenance is best effective when looming at the little people. A smile might break my face like a glass doll."

Loki kept his cane at his side but began removing his gloves, no need for them now, pocketing them. "I do hope I have put your housekeeper into a frenzy for tea."

A smile. "You always cause people to go about in a frenzy. Usually a frenzy of annoyance," Jarvis motions laconically for his peer to follow him into the solar. "The tea should be ready shortly."

Loki followed behind. "My type of frenzy. Now, do tell, when shall I be able to set eyes upon your little pet?"

Jarvis rolls his eyes, refusing to play along. "I actually decided against purchasing a new hound."

A snort. "You had better, someone will need to keep two glaring eyes on that thief."

\-----

Anthony really doesn't see what all the fuss is about when Sharon spots a carriage stopping in front of the mansion and promptly drags him away from his work, despite his protesting, because what is this he wasn't done--

"Quiet, Anthony," she orders - orders! - him and he's much too flabbergasted to react when she shoves him into the kitchen, putting a kettle into his hands. "What? What is _going on?_ "

"Just go and serve the Earl and his guest tea."

"But-- what? Why me?" Sharon smiles wryly.

"I don't think anyone else feels up to it. Just get out there."

Jarvis looks up when the door opens, and barely resists smacking his head against the tabletop when Anthony walks through carefully balancing a tea service.

Loki's head tilts at the unannounced entrance, eyes glaringly roaming this new addition to their company. The boys face is not one he recognises at all so he can only assume who this person is. With a smile, not the good kind, he looks to Jarvis.  
"So this would be your little thief, hmm?"

"Hardly a thief."

"Apologies, failed thief then."

Jarvis huffs, almost willing the boy to not speak his mind like he normally would.

Anthony blinks at the man, frowning a little before he gets a hold of himself and begins setting the tea seat on the coffee table, huffing a breath at 'failed thief', looking directly at the Earl's company when he straightens. "If you want to address me correctly, it would be Anthony, Sir." It's the most polite he can bring himself to be - really not all that bad, except maybe the tone of voice that really fails to convey any subordination or respect.

Jarvis can almost feel a headache brewing.

Loki's eyes widen a fraction at the way this boy speaks to him. He turns to Jarvis.  
"Seems the boy still needs instruction, I am surprised your housekeeper has not beaten it into him yet. Perhaps he is a lost cause? Throw him to the homeless," he waves a dismissive hand.

The unimpressed look Jarvis sends his friend speaks more eloquently than words. "Well you _were_ being quite impolitic. And he _is_ standing right next to us. With a near boiling pot of tea in his hands."

"I fail to see your point," again the smirk is on his face.

Anthony considers biting his closed fist to keep from speaking up, his whole expression one of irritation. This - Sharon will regret this.

"The point is I could easily claim that the hot tea was my fault. You know how clumsy I can be," Jarvis’ eyes barely flick up at the boy, indicating that he should leave.

Loki frowns. "Since when would you knowingly cause another harm?"

Jarvis simply smiles.

Anthony frowns at the Earl as well now, feeling a bit as if they had forgotten he was there, and setting down the pot of tea. Still he's hesitant to leave the room and subsequently, leave the Earl alone with - whoever this is.  
Which does remind him, turning back to Lord Friggason. "And you are?"

Loki’s frown deepens as this bug attempts to address him.

Jarvis clears his throat. "This is the Earl Friggason. An old friend of mine," there was a barely perceptible hesitation before friend.

Not heeding Jarvis’ hint to behave, Loki turns to Jarvis.  
"You've certainly allowed this one many liberties haven't you?" How dare that little shit talk to him when it was not his place to.

Jarvis flicks his eyes to the boy again, trying in vain to tell him that he should leave. _Oh why couldn't the boy listen to him just this once?_  
"I do not know what you are referring to, I treat all those who work for me with the same respect."

"Indeed you do but usually, they know their exact place."

Anthony doesn't understand what is happening here, but instinctively takes a few steps away from the guest, negativity coming off the other in waves. What does this man _want_ from him?

Jarvis smiles thinly, and directs his next words to Anthony. "Anthony, could you please go to the kitchens. I believe the cook must be finished with the food." And if they send Anthony back out here he is going to have _words_ with his staff. "While you are there, please find Elias, I need to speak with him."

Loki stays quiet, temporarily content with observing the two.

"I--" Anthony hesitates, definitely a moment too long for a good servant, but inclines his head eventually. There's no actual reason to disobey, after all. "Yes, milord." He turns on his heel, trying not to feel like he's fleeing the scene.

Jarvis is more than aware of Loki's eyes on him, but it is still an effort to keep his expression clear. He succeeds, but only just, turning back to the other noble wearing a social smile.  
"Interesting," is all Loki says, idly scratching his chin in thought.

Jarvis's eyes grow sharp. He's not stupid, despite what Society might say, and he has known the other lord far too long to be entirely fooled. "You jackass."

Loki smiles, leaning back in his chair, hands up in surrender. "You know me."

"A little too well. I should have not let you goad me like that."

"I admit, I was impressed by your quick threat to my person. Well done, that is a whole new level for you."

A huff, and Jarvis forces his finger to relax around the fine china in his hands. "If you push that far again I may actually follow through."

"Then I would no doubt be forced to stay and use your bathing and cleaning facilities until my clothes are cleaned enough for me to leave," he chuckles lightly, taking a sip of tea.

"I really _do_ wonder why I continue to keep you as a friend."

"Because for some twisted reason you enjoy my company."

"Not all that twisted. You're one of the few among the group with any brain cells."

Loki just laughs. "That and I also keep a collection of books that keep you interested."

\---

Anthony breathes deeply, straining his ears - but it's useless, the sounds behind the wooden door have gotten too quiet to make out, and that just frustrates him, enough so that he eventually pushes the door open, appearing with plates - almost stumbling over his own feet in the process, frowning darkly at himself while he sets the food down on the table as well.

Loki's eyebrow quirks as he glances to the side to see who has entered, the little rat again, a smirk appears once more on his face, closing his eyes briefly before looking back up at Jarvis.

It appeared that Jarvis _would_ be having words with his housekeeper. But really, now that he knew Loki had been pushing buttons more than anything he can't complain quite as much. Never the less he directs a quick glare in Loki's direction, thanking Anthony for the food. "Did you find Elias for me?"

Loki stays quiet, reaching over for some food to nibble on it, watching to two interact with scrutiny.

"Yes, milord," Anthony replies, a wry smile on his face. "Though he seems otherwise occupied at the moment." He wonders if everybody in this household has made the acquaintance (and carries some scarring from it) of the Earl Friggason.  
He turns to face Jarvis' friend then - and doesn't he keep strange friends - attempting to address him once more. "Sir," he begins, just a little strained, "if my actions in Lord Thompson's care have offended you, I apologize."

Loki stills for a moment, placing his food down on the edge of the plate to look up at the little cretin with a slight upturn of lips. "Now that is a proper apology," he chuckles, shooting a look to Jarvis. Oh he really shouldn't but then- since when has he ever let the waters still. "I do hope you gave a similar apology to your _master_ upon your... fortunate employment."

One of these days, Jarvis quietly vows to himself, he is going to push the other lord into a lake, or two. Or put a few cuts in his precious clothes. "He has apologised, Loki."

Loki taps the arm of the chair he sits in. "Good, as expected," he grins at Jarvis.

Anthony frowns, his mouth working before he can think better of it. "'As expected'?"

Loki raises a brow, barely looking at the cretin. "That is what I said. Do you not think it proper to apologise to the one you _attempted_ to steal from who subsequently employed you?"

Something about this noble is just plain infuriating, and while Anthony's gaze hardens, his tone of voice is kept carefully neutral. "I don't know, Sir. You don't make the impression of caring much for behaving properly yourself, so why should I?"  
He is provoking and he's aware of it, knowing that Lord Thompson won't be pleased with him, but the way Lord Friggason is ignoring him is grating on his nerves too much. Being ignored he doesn't deal well with, even if it's - all in all - the preferable option.

Loki lickes his lips, a smirk on his face. "You speak as if the worth between you and I are the same. I can afford not to behave in a proper fashion for I am an Earl with a vast fortune in my coffers. You, on the other hand-" he looks the _boy_ up and down, sneering, "-are a failed thief, poor and the clothes on your back are worth more than what you will ever own. So yes, indeed you should behave, since you are being given a roof and food at my friends indulgence."

"Experience has shown Lord Thompson doesn't keep me around because I'm known for keeping quiet and behaving," Anthony replies smoothly, having refound a certain calm, nothing that the Earl says shocking him - it's the truth after all, "and seeing as it is him that employed me, I don't see why another's opinion should weigh more."

"And what does he keep you around for?" Loki peers at his friend, "you obviously care not for overstepping your boundaries. Perhaps you truly are like a pet; you amuse him."

"Loki, that is enough. I told you before Anthony had apologised and has proven himself invaluable to this household," it was not that Jarvis is ignoring Anthony, more that he was trying to distract the other Lord from his prey. "As you can see the house is in excellent repair. And he had proven a more trustworthy secretary than my previous."  
What he left unsaid was how much happier he was with the boy's presence in his life.

Loki just hums, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands with a little smirk. "You have a soft spot for the boy."

"I--" Of course the brat had to point this out _while Anthony is in the same room._

Is the Earl blushing? Anthony has to suppress a smile, the reaction working to soften his ruffled feathers at the way Lord Friggason called him a _toy_ , and, deciding he's stood around for long enough, casually sits down into the couch instead. "Naturally - I am adorable, after all," he can't help himself from quipping.  
He's probably not helping Jarvis much here.

The lord in question resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He can definitely feel a headache coming on. Especially since he had thought that Anthony had better self-preservation skills. Really, Loki was the _worst_ person to act impertinent around. And Jarvis would be the one to take the brunt of Loki's words and tricks later.  
"Anthony, I thought we had talked about this. As in not antagonising bratty nobility."

Loki crossed his legs. Bratty, a word he heard all too often yet it made him grin at his friend.  
"He obviously is in need for another lesson. Why not allow me to take care of that? You know how good I am at reining in dogs."  
He knew Jarvis would not allow it but he just wanted to see his reaction.

The look the blond sends his friend could freeze the air itself. "Perhaps you are the one in need of a lesson, hmm?"  
Unimpressed, Loki snorts while Anthony leans back instead of talking back for a change, shivering a little when the atmosphere drops a few degrees at one single look of Lord Thompson, quietly promising to himself not to get the Earl angry at himself that way. Ever.  
"If my dear departed father could not rein me in, no one possibly can."

"Your father didn't know you as well as I do," the words are calm and even, though his eyes remain aloof.

"And I still doubt even you could restrain me," Loki chuckles, pointedly ignoring the little brat that has made himself comfortable

Jarvis's only response is a small smile.

"It's true this place isn't equipped with a dungeon," Anthony adds, his tone of voice light, leaning away from Jarvis as he feels the other's eyes on him.  
He's probably being glared at. Really, he doesn't dare to look to find out.

That's it, Jarvis' not even going to try anymore. Giving into need he rubs his temples, eyes closed to block out the other two. "I cannot believe you two."

"Oh don't worry, you would do well in mine," Loki replies to Anthony before turning to Jarvis once more. "Take control, old friend, why not dismiss the little cretin so we may enjoy ourselves?"

"Loki, old friend, you do realise you sound like someone who's been slumming in Paris, do you not?"

Loki frowns deeply, looking a tad disgruntled.  
"And yet it is you who thought of such a thing. Have you been thinking of acquiring a French girl lately? I see no other reason for it to be on your mind."

Jarvis snorts. "Oh dear god, the horror of that image. Really."

Anthony lifts his hand to his mouth, attempting to hide his smile. The two lords seem to have forgotten he’s there, which suits him just fine for the moment. This way he gets to listen in.

"A French boy then? If you happen to like that sort of thing," he casually waves a hand in the boy's direction.

In response, Anthony almost chortles, eyes growing wide while simultaneously pressing himself deeper into the couch, trying to become invisible. It seems to work - both nobles ignore him.

This time Jarvis groans. "Just go, Loki. I think you are trying to mentally scar me."

But Loki just lets out a bark of laughter.

"Ugh, someday I will cease speaking with you... after you return that book I lent you last."

"Perhaps I shall forget where I last placed it then," Loki smiles.

"Do that and I will make certain to shred all but your most unfashionable clothes just to spite you."

"Oh I would like to see you try. Besides, that would be yet another excuse for me to forever annoy you."

"I almost wish I could sell you to the French," Jarvis mutters to himself.

"I'm priceless," a little chuckle.

"Then I should be able to line my coffers for years to come with the money I would make. Or support several charities with the proceeds, in your name of course."

"Then I would be left to plot my revenge and take over the French government."

"They could use a bit more excitement over there, especially since chopping off the heads of their nobility. It's ripe for the taking."

"Perhaps it is a sport I would indulge in once I take over England in the name of France. You would look so good mounted on my wall."

"More like I would make a good ghost to make your life miserable."

"I could use the house as a new way to train servants. What better way to strike fear into them than to threaten to send them to a haunted house?"

"I never said I would haunt the house."

"Would you not be stuck there due to your head being placed there?"

Jarvis shakes his head. Honestly, what was he even saying. He was casually discussing hauntings and taking over France. This is what his life came to when he had to stay in the Lord Friggason's company for too long.  
"Loki, do you perhaps have business to attend to? Somewhere else? I know you came here for the express purpose of tormenting my servants, but I know you did not plan to devote too much time to that endeavor."

Loki sighs rather dramatically.  
"You are right. I must return to my own abode to torture my own servants, and of course deal with business," the Lord moves to stand, fishing his gloves out of his pocket and putting them back on. Anthony is trying not to sigh in relief too obviously.

"Excellent to see you, old friend," a chuckle; "and torment your new pet."

"It was quite an adventure, I must admit," Jarvis says, standing alongside the other lord. "Perhaps next time you will give enough notice that my cook can prepare those little cakes you so enjoy."

"Oh you do know how to entice me," he loved those cakes, "perhaps I might then."

Anthony just stays right where he is, peeking up at the blond and the dark-haired Earl - they're both ridiculously tall, he thinks to himself. And hides his smile behind a cushion.


	8. Chapter 8

When Anthony finally sits upon a horse, he immediately doubts the wisdom of that decision.

"No slouching, Mister," Peter calls cheerfully, holding the horse’s reins, and getting a glare from Anthony as he tries to adjust the way he’s holding himself. "Shoulders back, eyes on where you want to go, ankles away from the horse," the stable boy recites, watching the other struggle with a smile.

"Would you stop looking so awfully pleased with yourself, it gives me hives," Anthony complains, but Peter just shrugs easily, continuing to smile. "Not my fault you decide you absolutely can’t look like the complete beginner you are in front of the Earl, which doesn’t make any sense, you’ve got carte-blanche from the lord himself anyways, and you said yourself—”

"Quiet, Pete, I’m trying to get the ankles right."

"Right," Peter replies, still sounding way too cheerful. "Let me show you how to hold the reins— stay in contact with the horse, but don’t tug on the reins if it can be avoided, you direct the horse with your whole body, not by yanking its head around. Come on, come on, go for a round, the Earl will no doubt bang up on the mark and then wonder why his servant wasn’t able to wait for him like a good boy."

“Fatwit,” Anthony gives back, sullenly, which is immediately followed by Peter giving as good as he gets: “Goose.” - “Bacon brained fool.” - “Windsucker.” - “You take that back, I’m definitely not boring!”

Peter laughs brightly, shaking his head. “You gonna be parting company if you don’t focus on the horse, rattleplate.”

The sound of banter comes faintly as Jarvis makes his way towards the stables. Laughter and teasing becoming clearer the closer he comes. He can’t really help it, the curiosity begins to churn and he slows just enough for his boots to make barely a sound as he turns the corner, able to see into the fenced area near the stables but still far enough back to be easily overlooked by the two boys trading false insults.

At first he is amused. Anthony is perched atop one of the manor’s more placid mares. He cannot really hear what they are saying to each other, though he assumes from Anthony’s constantly shifting stance that Peter must be giving him instruction on how to properly seat himself. So he decided to take Peter up on the lessons after all.  
He shouldn’t feel a twist of slight disappointment at that. After all, it had taken them days to arrange it so that the young noble could have that ‘day off work’ that the boy had urged him to take.

Of course he would prefer Peter’s company to his own. There was an edge of wistfulness to the lord’s thoughts as he watched the two. After all, Peter was closer to his age (though not by much if Jarvis had been honest with himself), and closer to his status. Someone like the Earl was supposed to stay aloof from the peasantry. He should have remembered that. All he ever did was make everyone around him uncomfortable.

"To make her go, or make her go faster, slight press of the ankles and a voice command, speak to the lady," Peter advises, and later on Anthony will suspect that his friend showed him only how to steer and speed while leaving out the slow down and stop part on purpose, but that’s when he spots Jarvis and is sufficiently distracted to not acknowledge it in the moment.

"Got it, thanks," he says distractedly to Peter, not wanting to know what the other is smirking smugly about, and directs the mare towards his lord - conveniently where the little riding area’s opening is. "Afternoon, milord," he greets, and then notices he has no idea how to stop the horse, the mare trotting calmly past Jarvis. "Hey, stop. Ho? Slow down? Hey, horse—"

Feeling completely foolish now (and for a reason, Peter has played him, the bastard - naturally the stable boy’s already disappeared without a trace by now, but he’ll get that back full force), Anthony urges the horse to turn and trot past Jarvis again. “—help?” he asks, plaintively, feeling his cheeks color a little. “Where are the brakes?”

Jarvis has to slap a hand over his mouth to stop what he is certain are giggles from coming out. His shoulders are shaking with mirth when he finally manages to compose himself; which means that by that point Anthony had already made another pass on the poor mare and if anything was seeming even more lost atop the animal. Thankfully Anthony had enough foresight to resist pressing his heels tighter against the horse’s sides.

"The command for stop is ‘whoa’, Anthony. Now pull back lightly on the reins, yes, exactly like that,” he is grinning as he walks up to the now still horse, though it is still an effort to hold back the laughter. "I believe I see why you did not want Mr. Parker to teach you."

Even with all the effort, Anthony doesn’t manage to suppress the pouting, because everyone is laughing at him today. And that just isn’t an acceptable situation. At all.  
The horse seems perfectly content to walk in circles, and Anthony manages to make the animal come to a halt without trouble following the Earl’s instructions. “My revenge will be terrible,” he grumbles lowly, not quite ready to forgive the stable hand.

"Well, at least you didn’t need to fall off," Jarvis says almost conversationally, a hand coming up to stroke along the mare’s muzzle. The beast really was one of the more placid members of his stables, at least Peter had been kind enough to saddle this one for the former stray than one of the more temperamental creatures. 

"Um. Do you want to go out, milord?"

Anthony feels the horse will do whatever she wants below him, which is fine with him as long as doing whatever she wants is not contrary to whatever Anthony wants - but anyways, the Earl has mentioned wanting to ride for fun, so Anthony’s determined to make that happen.  
Him being ready be damned.

"I would still like to go out yes, I did promise to help you learn how to ride did I not?" He grins. "And I’ll actually teach the commands and motions so that you can stop her. We’ll save learning how to canter or jump for a later date," this time he did laugh, brushing a hand down the mare’s neck as he grins up at the boy. The pout he was wearing was almost adorable.

The look Anthony sends his lord is only slightly skeptical. “Much appreciated,” he mumbles in return, quietly wondering what on earth ‘canter’ means. ‘Jumping’ is easy enough to guess at.

It was at that moment that Peter emerged from the stables, leading Jarvis’s chestnut gelding. With a parting pat, Jarvis walks over and takes the reins, unmoved by the stable boy’s innocent smile.

"You might want to watch your back for the rest of the summer, at least. Mr. Stark here can be sneaky," he chuckles as Peter’s sputters and mounts, seating himself easily in the saddle, nudging his own horse closer to where Anthony was.

Anthony grins, sticking his tongue out at the stable boy when he thinks the Earl won’t see it.

"Would you like me to lead?" Jarvis was fairly certain of what Anthony’s response would be, but it was still better to ask.

"Yes of course, milord," the young man replies smoothly, hesitatingly leaning forward just a bit to pet the horse’s neck, because the animal is behaving rather well (as in, just standing there and not running off to throw him of its back). "Horses are gregarious enough that this one will probably follow their stable-mate, right?"

Compared with the Earl’s horse, Anthony’s seems downright lazy - the Earl’s one sashays a little when Jarvis lifts himself into a saddle - but really, Anthony can only be grateful. He feels this mare will take him back to the manor eventually, no matter how useless a rider he is.

With another smile the earl urges his horse forward; the gelding took little prompting, long used to such jaunts, and followed soon in his wake. Jarvis had missed this while in the city. Sure there were carefully maintained paths and riding parks in London, but nothing was quite like being able to ride in the countryside. The air was fresher, the greenery more wild, and here, here he was not on display for the rest of society to see.  
It was relaxing.

So much so that he almost forgot that Anthony was trailing behind him. Tossing a look over his shoulder to make certain that the mare was indeed still behind him, he turned his horse towards the gate, keeping the pace sedate. After all, he actually did not want to see Anthony fall into the mud.

"Are you doing alright?" The concern was there. It was not as if you could climb onto the back of a horse for the first time in your life and not feel some discomfort.  
Maybe he should get to the riding lesson. But in a bit, for the moment he wanted to enjoy the ride. Though a part of him longed to be able to spur his horse into a run, he resisted. 

At least his mare does mostly just follow the second horse’s direction without fuss, not much minding Anthony squirming around on top. “Horses aren’t very comfortable in my humble opinion, milord,” he says, sounding a little pinched, though it’s probably fair. He can’t imagine he makes for a comfortable passenger, either. How does the Earl manage to look so relaxed on top of that animal?

"But otherwise, I’m peachy. Wonderful. Just dreading being unable to walk for two days after this." Looking at Jarvis so obviously enjoying himself makes it hard to believe that a horse can be as uncomfortable as Anthony feels it is, but well. "I suppose it is an acquired taste?"

Closing his eyes, Jarvis allows himself to just take in the morning. Throwing a smile over at the other he shook his head at the boy’s restless squirming. “Don’t resist the motion of the horse or try to keep yourself stiff. You have to go with the movement, Anthony. Else you will fall off.”  
Though at least if the boy did fall down into the mud it would give him more cushioning than hard dirt.

“I always looked forward to when the family moved to the country for the summer. Spoiled, I know, but I enjoy the luxury of being able to come here.”  
The Earl’s sentence makes Anthony do an entirely useless eye-roll, what with Jarvis not looking at him, so he urges his mare on to fall in step beside the noble’s horse. Uncomfortable seat aside, it becomes dull to trot along in silence, or so he feels. “Of course, you are the only one of your status that admits to being spoiled. It kind of makes up for the spoiledness in the first place,” he replies, frowning a little in thought. “Is spoiledness a word?”

"It is not a word as yet, but I’m certain you can be determined enough to make it one," the Earl returns placidly. "I am more than aware of how easy my life is compared to others. I have wealth and a title," a small smile. "And food."

Determined is the nice word for annoyingly stubborn, isn’t it? Anthony snorts at the statement, and the one that follows makes it hard not to repeat the sound. “And you share.”  
It seemed like a relevant thing to add. “Especially the food.”

"True, I share. But I believe I already told you my reasons for that in the first days of our— acquaintance," kindness, helping others bringing happiness and the hope of perpetuating kindness in turn. A naive sentiment he had constantly been told, but one he tried to hold to. "And yes," he says laughing. "I especially share the food."

"You’re allowed to say _when I made you drop a lot of jars in my kitchen_ , you know.”

"It seems so impolitic to mention your clumsiness," the answer comes easily with a light chuckle. 

"Before you call me clumsy I’d like to see you carry that many jars and react to someone unexpectedly tapping you on the shoulder!” Anthony shoots back, mock-offendedly, and then adds as an afterthought: “milord.”

Taking a deep breath, Anthony tries to follow the Earl’s advice, briefly focusing on the movement below him. It is true that if he tries to go with the motion, there’s less uncomfortable shifting needed, but it feels strange to him.  
Sitting in a carriage is definitely simpler.

"I feel I’m fated to fall off this horse sooner or later anyways, milord," he replies, his tone of voice faintly amused, and tries to sit straighter in the saddle. "Is this better?"

Jarvis falls silent for a moment, observing as Anthony attempts to find a proper seat upon the saddle. Nodding when he manages to fall into some semblance of proper carriage upon the horse. Though they would still have to work on that.

"Well, you no longer resemble a sack of flour in your seat, it’s a start at least," the teasing comes easily, perhaps made moreso from the relaxed atmosphere.

Throwing the other a long look, Anthony raises an eyebrow, his tone of voice dry. “Just above a sack of flour? You will crush my last ounce of self-confidence like this, milord.”  
Maybe he’s being overly dramatic, but it’s hard not to be in the position. “I was rather hoping getting some instructions before you threw me to the wolves would save me from being laughed at, but Peter obviously failed to fulfill his task.”  
Seeing as it’s by far not the first time today the Earl amuses himself at the cost of Anthony’s crumbling sense of self-worth (yes, dramatizing again).

Tossing a look Anthony’s way Jarvis stifles a grin. "I suppose I should have arrived at the barn a half hour early then. I could have given you proper instruction."  
Then again, he should have done that rather than choosing to ride out the gate for a pleasant ride through the forest. A ride that Anthony was most certainly finding vastly uncomfortable, he realised with chagrin. 

"I am sorry, I had promised to show you how to ride. And barring Mr. Parker’s antics, I did not even try to make certain you could comfortably accompany me on this ride. I apologise."

At the apology, Anthony blinks, not having expected it - and then shakes his head, chuckling. “Did you not expect this exact situation to occur? You didn’t say _oh yes let me teach you it will be the fun of my life_ , what you did say was _I will enjoy riding just for the pleasure of it_. Naturally that implied you wouldn’t wait for me to be technically ready to take on nature on horseback. At least I assumed that was your meaning, and I have proven correct, so there’s no need to apologize. Really, for this? I was prepared. Maybe I should apologize instead for holding you back.”

All the Earl can do is shake his head at the logic. In all technicalities it was true, though the lord had set out with the initial intention of showing the boy how to ride. He was not foolish or naive enough to expect that a child raised on the streets would have had access to a horse, let alone riding lessons. But the pull of just being able to ride, with no expectations of entertaining some lord or lady had been too much to resist.

"You are hardly holding me back, in fact this is some of the most fun I have had in days."

"Days, only? Are you certain?" The question is delivered with enough cheek that the Earl can easily brush it off if he feels like it, but Anthony feels the need to just make the other see how ‘fun’ should be a thing he should be having regularly.

Jarvis smiles wryly. “Well, I have been reading a particularly fascinating book lately. Though I’m not certain how one would classify that. It certainly isn’t as bracing as a ride.”

“Of course, books. Very exciting. Pure life.” Maybe his voice is a little dry and certainly he won’t successfully distract from how horseback still is obviously uncomfortable for him, but hey.

"Does that mean you do not want to give your horse the command to gallop across a meadow or two? I’ve seen people on horseback before, you know, they make the impression of enjoying themselves more as the speed increases, milord.”  
Like a train crash waiting to happen, but he doesn’t say that out loud.

The question about galloping almost has Jarvis doubled over in laughter. “Oh, while I quite enjoy a nice run through the fields I do not believe you are even remotely up for such a thing. That mare may decide to follow us and you can trust me that falling off of a horse at any speed is an unpleasant experience.”

He shakes his head, chuckling at memories of days past. “I had almost feared that I had broken an arm that time.”

"And people try to tell me you’re not a dangerous beast,” Anthony tells his mare conversationally, patting the animal’s neck, before replying to Jarvis.  
"That is what I meant with holding you back, milord. Apologies, I guess. I could just get off the horse and wait for you here?" That would mean he could conveniently and without raising suspicion give his poor butt a break.

Though the way the Earl is looking at him, Anthony’s not sure the other doesn’t see straight through him anyways. 

The lord looks over at the boy knowingly, laughing and turning his own gelding around so they were facing the manor again. “Are you really that uncomfortable?” he says with a smile. Though he knew with a stab of guilt that Anthony was most likely already sore. At least the ride had not been quite so long.

"Never mind," he says, shaking his head indulgently. "You know, that sounds like a splendid idea actually. If you are not certain you could keep her reined in while I let him loose for a bit of a run then it would be best to dismount," he smiles. "I will join you after and walk back to the stables with you."

Anthony doesn’t let the Earl ask him twice to dismount, turning a good portion of his intense focus to not pull a face or wince as he does and comes to a stand next to his mare, taking her reins firmly - more for show than anything else, as the horse doesn’t seem very interested in running off at all.

And then Jarvis puts his heels to his gelding’s flank and they’re flying. Eyes glued on the rider and his horse, not even the mare next to him snorting softly diverting his attention. “I know,” he says, absently, “he looks beautiful.”

The mare doesn’t seem very impressed by the statement, nudging Anthony in the shoulder, which finally makes him turn towards the animal again, a small smile on his face - even he recognises an affectionate nudge of a horse. No doubt the mare could easily push him off his feet if she so desired. “What is it? Are you not entertained? You probably just want to trot home and eat, that seems to be what most of you are doing all day long. Lazy beast.”

It had been so long since Jarvis had been able to just ride like this, let loose and run across the fields. No need to watch for others, keep a pleasant facade, play the proper Earl. The rush of exhilaration flowing through his veins, and he laughed, only managing to just catch himself before he let out a whoop.

He set a path around the meadow, looping back around and racing back towards the waiting boy. His eyes are practically shining with joy, a wide grin spread across his face. He dismounted with the same ease and grace with which he had mounted, taking a moment to pet the gelding’s muzzle as he butted against his arm. His limbs feel loose and limber as he comes to stand beside the other.

"I had forgotten how enjoyable that was, thank you for allowing me the opportunity, Anthony."

When the other slides off his horse as if it’s easy not to look like a sack of potatoes while dismounting, Anthony lets go of a resigned sigh, absently stroking his mare’s muzzle.  
He’ll get there someday. Maybe.

"You’re welcome, milord," Anthony replies, lips quirking slightly because he didn’t do much more but look like the complete beginner that he is (and is therefore really not in a position that he should get thanked for), did he?

The walk back to the stables takes intense focus on Anthony’s part to not wince or walk oddly, but he manages somehow - the only telling sign of discomfort is how quiet he’s being, but Jarvis doesn't push for conversation.


	9. Chapter 9

A noble visitor to the manor always caused a maelstrom of activity among the manor’s staff. The maids moving about the rooms in a flurry of cleaning, the kitchens bustling as a meal befitting a member of the peerage is assembled. 

Honestly, the staff always seemed to care about the pomp and circumstance more than the earl they served. Jarvis was always a little embarrassed by the effort expected of his household on the behalf of whomever was visiting. And always just a tad offended that they expected the effort put into hosting them in his home. That they sat and judged every little thing laid before them.

But Jarvis would still dutifully play the gracious host, allowing his household to lay before his guests the finest fare; even if all the young noble really wanted was for them to leave him be.

Especially when they came calling for the reason this particular Viscount was.  
Marriage.

Jarvis almost winced at the thought of having to face this discussion. It had happened so often since he gained the title; there were times he missed his parents for the simple fact that they would have been able to handle these matters without him. The Viscount’s intentions had been quite plain in the correspondence he had been sending over the past two weeks. The mentions of his daughter coming more frequently, and the allusions to the benefit of combining their houses barely even hints by this point.  
And so Jarvis greeted them into his house with a weariness that he had only let out in the privacy of his own study.

Pasting on a smile he stepped into the foyer, playing the gracious society host, every inch the social gentleman that was expected.

Maybe Anthony is holding himself a little stiffly while serving tea, but it’s not like the visitors would even glance at him more than once to notice - or expect anything else from him, really.

"Lady?" he addresses her directly, keeping his voice soft, offering her the tea cup directly - it’s not that etiquette tells him to, but he feels the need to test her, anyways. Her eyes - a pretty green - flick up to him, but only briefly, and she inclines her head in thanks before accepting the offered cup.

Anthony inwardly resigns, turning away to pout vaguely at the window instead. Damn. She’d be good at the Earl’s side. Beautiful, calm, the kind of lady befitting a man of Jarvis Thompson’s status.

Why he’d hoped she wouldn’t pass his assessment, Anthony couldn’t tell. Clearly it is expected of Lord Thompson to marry, and to marry well.

It is that reasoning that leads him to wait just outside the room until the Earl finds his way there, and Anthony grasps the other’s arm, lightly, just enough to let himself be noticed. “Milord,” he begins, and feels he owes his employer this, “maybe you should put your aversion to marriage aside and consider her as your future wife— she seems a good match.”  
He tries, he really does, but he ends up looking as if he’d bitten something very bitter while he says it anyways.

Jarvis stares at Anthony in shock for several long moments. The advice sounds so foreign coming from the boy, it takes several moments for his mind to catch up with the words, his mind finally linking up the advice to the arrival of the Viscount and his daughter. But he had never expected such from the boy, and it confused him as to why he was saying it now.

Taking a deep breath he straightens his shoulders, trying to make the social mask fall back into the place. The honest shock had caused it to slip, though thankfully the former stray had confronted him with his words alone, rather than within view of those who would such weakness against him.

"I am not entirely certain where this came from, but I suppose I should respect you enough to take your advice under consideration," or not. Truth to tell Jarvis could think of little he would wished to avoid more than marriage.

Anthony raises his eyebrows, his silent _‘do you think I’m a total idiot or something’_ -expression, but he can’t deny he’s somewhat relieved hearing the ‘no way’ out of Jarvis’ words as clearly as if he’d spoken it aloud.

Lord Thompson had long since resigned himself to the many burdens society heaped upon his shoulders, and someday that would most likely include a wife. Especially considering his status as a titled peer of the realm. But he refused to be badgered into it. Perhaps this girl would be nice enough, perhaps she would be the one he could bring himself to marry.  
But he doubted it.

Without another word he gave Anthony a tremulous smile then swept through the doors, greeting his visitors with every ounce of decorum he could raise. Offering a small bow to the woman as her father introduced them while Anthony fights from letting the aforementioned relief show too obviously on his face as he trails after the Earl into the room again, standing to the side.

One never knows when his service is needed, right?

Truth be told, his actual objective is pure and unaltered curiosity. He wants to see this - and while he watches his employer interact with his guests with his special brand of gentle reservedness, he dwells on the look on Jarvis’ face when he’s stopped the Earl in the hallway before.

The blond looked downright bewildered, and to Anthony, that doesn’t seem to make sense. Is it not expected of him, to act in his lord’s best interest? Of course, he’s no adviser of any kind, but he acts like it anyways, and Lord Thompson has never taken offense at him speaking about what he would deem the best course of action.  
That is, until today.

Maybe he’s overstepped a line. Inwardly sighing - because this had to happen sooner or later, and no doubt he’ll have to awkwardly apologize - Anthony tries to focus on the conversation happening in front of him instead, bracing himself for an extended wait for it to end.

It was exactly as Jarvis had expected. He and the other lord traded banalities for a time, and as the conversation dragged the man would slip in small praises or comments about his daughter’s accomplishments. To hear it from the viscount the young woman was every inch the perfect lady.

Honestly, Jarvis much preferred when he was confronted by these overtures at a social function. It was expected there, in the eyes of society. And it kept the person pushing from being too overt. After all, Society frowned upon a person who was too blunt. And it was also easier for him to slip away at a ball or other social function. It was much harder to do so when that person was sitting across the table from you, using the restraints of manners and etiquette against you.  
It was wearying.

The girl was nice enough at least. She was not the simpering sort, and she acted with grace; every inch the young Lady. But she appeared so delicate, almost fragile. 

Throughout the meal Jarvis forced his attention to remain on his guests. The girl was largely silent throughout, a mixed blessing. He preferred it when they spoke at least. But then again, they did not always try for engaging conversation. His determination to focus on his guests was complicated by Anthony’s presence. He idly wondered for a moment why the household kept sending the boy out as the server, especially considering that Anthony had never really been trained for the position.

He set the thought forcefully aside as the Viscount became more blunt. “—after all you are getting no younger. Our interests would both benefit greatly—”

Well. That’s kind of— insulting, isn’t it? Anthony blinks, considering his options:

a) interrupting the conversation  
b) fainting in the middle of the room (as a means to interrupt the conversation, see a)  
c) flee and leave the Earl to the wolves (or the wolf? Not that the viscount seems particularly intimidating, more… annoying. Which, in Anthony’s opinion, might just be worse.)

Meanwhile the viscount prattles on about the economies of a lasting union and for some reason, that just sets Anthony off and he’s stepped forward before he can think better of it. “If I may, milord?” he asks, addressing the question to Jarvis, but not waiting for a reply before turning to the viscount. “Sir, you are wasting your time. No doubt your daughter is lovely, but it doesn’t make much of a difference, since Lord Thompson doesn’t intend to marry anyone, no matter the benefits. You should not waste your limited breaths on such pointless endeavors, especially when it means making your host uncomfortable.”

The room falls utterly silent as soon as the last syllable is spoken, and Anthony can almost feel all eyes on him, in various stages of surprise - the viscount is gaping quite rudely, the young lady has opened her mouth in a silent _oh_ , and Jarvis— Anthony doesn’t dare to turn to find out how Jarvis looks.

When Anthony started speaking Jarvis froze, dread creeping through him as the boy started addressing the lord and his daughter before he could stop him. Simply because the young earl enjoyed the former stray’s outspoken tendencies, did not mean most of the rest of society would. Loki had been an exception, a noble who was well used to actions that others would consider disrespectful.

But not everyone would tolerate such actions.

He was not humiliated by Anthony’s words. (Ok, perhaps he was a little bit. But not because Anthony was saying them, but because of the situation itself.) In the silence that follows Anthony’s daring outburst he dreads how the Viscount will react. The man had little reputation for violence, but he was arrogant, and Jarvis had no doubt he would try to have Anthony punished for the outburst.

A few seconds tick by, and then the young woman claps her hands, chuckling - and it is Anthony’s turn to gape when she carefully rights her skirt before standing up, going almost toe-to-toe with him and says: “oh Papa, I like him! Can we not take him home with us instead?”

Jarvis chuckles as he leans forward a bit, fixing the one in question with an amused, knowing look. “I am afraid, Miss Gravens, that Mr. Stark here is currently under contract for the foreseeable future.”

When he looks back at her she seems to theatrically deflate. Well, at least this one had a sense of humour. “Oh such a pity. He is ever so amusing.”

 _Anthony is not a puppy_ , Jarvis thinks to himself, _he is a human being, intelligent and clever in his own right._ Still, the smile he gives her is gentle (if a little forced), not a touch of mockery. She was intelligent and kind, at the least. Far better than her father. Though he was certain she had been as hopeful for this marriage as the Viscount himself. “Yes well,” his eyes flick back over to Anthony. “I have found him to be quite a fortuitous addition to my household.”

What is happening? Miss Gravens - finally a name to associate with the face, maybe Anthony should try to pay more attention to introductions after all - is not touching him (that would not be proper behaviour for a lady, after all), but she did raise her hand as if she wanted to - maybe stroke his hair, or pinch his cheek, or just grasp his wrist in passing.

She is lovely, holding herself like Anthony imagines a queen would, and when he catches himself staring he tears his gaze away to meet his lord’s eyes instead.  
His commentary doesn’t seem needed, nor wanted (which is good, considering the way he’s just swallowed his tongue whole, or at least feels like he has), but he tries to give the Earl a smile instead, just a touch uncertain. _Whew, I’m lucky I’m cute, right?_

If not for their visitors Jarvis would have rolled his eyes at the look on Anthony’s face. His own conveyed a warning that they would have the talk about how to behave around noble visitors again. Thankfully this time the lady was not overly offended by Anthony’s blunt rudeness or overall lack of manners.

The Viscount’s sputtering was beginning to grate on Jarvis' nerves. The lady herself was not terrible company, now that she had actually begun to speak.  
If anything she made for an engaging conversationalist. A pity her father was coming to annoy him. And even more the pity that she herself was still hopeful for marriage between them. Perhaps she would not be terrible— but Jarvis shied away from that thought, finding himself unmoved by such thoughts. Instead he turned his attention to the task to moving them out of his house.

From there on out it is all apologies and polite ushering on the Earl’s side, which Anthony watches with a growing sense of dread, almost wishing the Viscount would put up more of a fuss (no chance, his daughter has her hand on his arm, obviously completely aware of how to dispel a possible fight before it happens) to distract Jarvis of his own actions.

Would that work?  
Probably not.

Finally the door falls shut and for one, stupid second, Anthony is rooted to the spot, staring at the wooden frame, before his brain catches on with him and he turns on his heel. “I should go— to the kitchen—”

"Anthony," the word holds no censure, but it also made clear that Jarvis is not about to let the boy run away just yet. He fixes the other with a firm look, the corners of his lips twitching with a barely hidden smile. Letting the silence stretch between them for a moment. Jarvis raises a brow.

"You have the most damnable luck when it comes to encounters with nobility."

Turning to face the Earl again, Anthony cringes a little at the other’s expression, sheepishly reaching up with one hand to scratch at his neck - but the admonition he’s expecting doesn’t come, and when all Jarvis does say is to comment on his luck, Anthony looks up at him in surprise.  
"Uh," he begins, eloquent as ever, "thank you? I’m sorry?"

First Anthony had had the unfortunate, or fortunate depending on interpretation, luck to steal from the one noble in the city known for his charity. To top it off he had done so when most of the staff were away, an unusual occurrence that had worked in his favour considering that the London staff would have most certainly shuffled the boy off to the constables.

Then he had mouthed off to the one noble who actually liked impertinence, heavens knows how he managed that. And just now he’d had the great fortune to speak up in front of someone who had found his frankness charming.  
Such damnable luck.

“I don’t see how you can do it, this whole not being able to say what you think because it’s not acceptable in fine society, I mean, at least on the streets you can speak your mind— and, if you really overstep, you might get punched for it but that’s that. Nobody will force you to sit down and waste time listening to someone who doesn’t have anything of interest to say.”

"Practice. A great deal of practice," Jarvis says. After all, he had been trained practically from birth to function in society. Learning just what to say, how to act, every minutia of expression controlled. He smiles. "Yes, I imagine the streets are a little less polished with their verbal interactions," and perhaps a touch less dangerous. Those in power had much more to gain, and lose. And their actions could have far greater repercussions than a punch to the jaw.

A small huff, and then Anthony shakes his head. “And that idea of marriage—” He pulls a face, frowning deeply. Maybe Anthony is a romantic deep down, but in his opinion it can’t be too much to ask for two people to know each other before marriage is being discussed.

"Ah yes, marriage. Well, at the least my parents did not choose to arrange a marriage for me. There are families who arrange a marriage between houses from birth. Then again, there is something almost easier about that," at least they are not subjected to the banalities of courting.

"Admittedly," he continues. "What the Viscount did was a touch unusual. Normally the parents wait until social gatherings to drop hints of marriage. Encourage the two to dance and social together in a much more controlled setting," under the eyes of all of society. Perhaps the Viscount had been hoping to bypass the competition, Jarvis thought wearily. As if he were a prize to be won.

"Dances and balls are used at the normal arena to begin courtship, and sorties and tea gatherings as the negotiations," and honestly it was a process that dragged at him.  
Anthony raises an eyebrow, faintly amused at the small discourse - then lets go of his breath in a small sigh and straightens up, meeting the Earl’s gaze evenly. “I do not envy your position, milord.”

"Strangers only ever envy the money. The weights of privilege can be like a gilded cage," he smiles almost sadly. "But it is only that way if you let yourself see it as such."

Anthony worries his lower lip, then gives a slight shrug of his shoulders and sobers up. “For my— outburst from before. I know you’re not one to go spanking your servants or something, but still, what will be my punishment?”

The young lord starts to laugh, a rich chuckle leaving him. “Perhaps I’ll ask the cook to put you on dishwashing duty for the rest of the month,” he chuckles. “Or I could always ask Loki for a suitable punishment,” although he knew that whatever the other lord could suggest would just make him cringe.

He sighs and sobers. “I am not angry,” he says. “I was worried. It could have went far worse, I have seen it go far worse. Eventually— eventually your luck may not hold out so well.”

Anthony is still busy making a face at picturing a month of washing dishes when the last thing the Earl says catches up to him and his eyes widen almost comically. “Worried?” he parrots, disbelief clear as day in his voice. “For— for me?”

“Of course I was worried for you. That man may not have had quite the same social standing as I, but he still holds a fair amount of influence. That is the only reason he could have the temerity to approach me directly for a possible marriage between his daughter and I.”

"So I suppose the next time you get subtly tortured for marriage I should just let you suffer, milord?"  
The question is delivered with a slight teasing tone of voice, though Anthony is only half joking - for the other half, he’s honestly curious to hear the Earl’s response, because it was surprisingly hard on his nerves to watch the other cringe and do nothing

"Honestly, I would say ‘yes please save me again’ but I realise that most often the people trying to corner me into a marriage are the Society Matrons, and quite frankly it is simply better on everyone’s nerves if we try to keep them as calm as possible. There are few things more terrifying, or strident, than a Marquess or Duchess who is offended."

Certainly very few of those very proper and judging women would react as amiably as the lady today had. If they knew how often he personally helped the poor their disapproving looks might be enough to make him run as far and fast as possible. Perhaps even Anthony would falter under such a look.  
As it was they thought his altruism to be a cute eccentricity and did not detract from his standing in Society.

"What can they possibly do to me that should have me afraid? Put me back onto the streets?"  
Anthony nearly scoffs, but holds himself back - it’s true he’s always had trouble with this _respect them because of their lineage_ logic, but surely Lord Thompson is wary of his colleagues (if one can call the members of high society that) with good reason.

Jarvis doesn't reply to that, just raises his eyebrows. It is enough, for Anthony, to understand that the consequences could and would be dire enough for the Earl not wanting to explain them in great detail. And yet.

"Still— milord, there’s no reason to worry for me." _I make my own messes, and I carry the consequences._ “I mean, think of your heart rate and all.”  
Yeah, that’s right, implying some extra excitement might just make the Earl drop into unconsciousness at any moment to lighten the mood.  
Good going, Anthony.

Anthony may be charming, but Jarvis was an admitted eccentric. He enjoyed being able to talk to someone so candidly. And he enjoyed Anthony’s honesty with him.  
"I hardly think that I will suffer a heart attack and keel over because I care about what happens to you, you silly stray."

Anthony raises his eyebrows.  
"With all due respect," he begins, mouth quirking into a smirk, "I am not a stray anymore. After all, a stray is someone who doesn’t have a home, is it not?"

Jarvis starts to laugh, an odd warmth blooming in his chest at the boy’s words. “No, you are certainly no longer a stray,” so Anthony considered this his home? Just the thought placed a smile on his face that would not go away.

It is obvious that the Earl is pleased with what Anthony just said, and the smile he gets for it is damn near impossible not to reply to in kind. When he smiles, the Earl appears his young age, and Anthony feels -

 _God._  
Anthony has to look away in hopes of hiding the too-wide grin on his face.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awkward bathing scene ahead. Expect some secondhand embarrassment thanks to those two silly ducks.

The steam rising from the bath was a most welcome sight. One would normally think that spending your days doing nothing more than luncheons, balls, and socialising would be easy. Something that most people dreamed of having the luxury of doing, not having to worry about where the next meal came from, only which tailor to contract and keeping up with the latest in London fashion. But Jarvis was always left bone weary after such a string of events.

This time it had been one of those events that required him to stay at the host’s manor for nearly a week. And to top it off it had started raining the day before he was scheduled to leave… and had not yet stopped.

Elias had come down with a chill at nearly the same time, leaving him without the assistance of his valet. Not that it was so terrible, but it had left Sharon tutting and promising to send someone else up to assist him with his bath.  
Because heavens forbid he set about clothing himself.

\--

"Come here, boy," Sharon invites Anthony, the way she beckons him closer immediately making him suspicious, not to mention the way she only calls him boy - because she knows he doesn’t like it, seriously, he’s past the age when anybody should call him boy - when she thinks of doing something that will make him suffer in one way or the other.  
Nobody could berate him for not actually getting closer.

"Yes?"

"Be a dear and go assist Lord Thompson with his bath," she continues, unfazed by his hesitation. Anthony only stares at her, his eyes narrowing for a second, but then he nods and takes off.

Aiding the Lord with his bath doesn’t sound so horrible, so better to flee before she remembers something even more grating. Remembering to knock on the door, he enters the bath, announcing himself by clearing his throat.

"Milord? Apparently you’re stuck with me for this bath."

Jarvis pauses in the act of shrugging off his coat, almost rolling his eyes because of course the woman would send Anthony up. It seemed of late as if the staff viewed Anthony as the default person to send on all errands, even if he had absolutely no training or any idea of what he was expected to do. 

"Ah, Anthony," he says. "I did not expect them to send you up," he finishes taking off the coat, shaking damp hair out of his eyes. "Honestly, one would think that carrying a title and wealth made you as competent as a babe when it comes to caring for yourself."  
His eyes are glinting with humour as he begins to undo the laces on his shirt, pulling it off with an economy of movement.

"Indeed," Anthony agrees easily, casually sauntering over to the bath tub, eyeing the lord out of the corner of his eyes as he does. "I take it that means you need no help undressing? Well, I suppose this is not quite the same thing as when you let a group of maids force-bath me. That was not very pleasant an experience."

He turns, facing a shirtless Earl, and, well, okay, why is he getting nervous? This is nothing to be nervous about. Come on, whatever Elias can do—  
"Anyways, I totally got this. Helping unhandy nobles with their baths can’t be as difficult as that, right? Maybe it’s a bit like washing a horse."  
—he can do better. Get a grip, Anthony, you’re babbling—  
"—whenever you’re ready, milord."

He throws the boy a strange look. ‘Like washing a horse’? “Not even nearly as complicated,” he says as he begins to work on the buttons of his trousers. “All you need do is grab the robe from the wardrobe there,” he says, indicating the place with a tilt of his chin. He had forgotten to bring it out beforehand; it was obvious that he was far too used to having someone else do it for him. 

Grateful for something to do, Anthony turns to grab the robe, then gathers the soap, a soft washcloth and a brush, maybe dilly-dallying a little before he turns to face the Earl again, grateful again to see that the other’s already climbed into the bath.

He’s fine looking at shirtless Jarvis now. Really, he’s just being stupid about this.

"Finally," Jarvis breathes. "Ugh, it has been a trying week."

"If you want to gossip about how annoying people are, feel free to, milord," Dropping the robe on the nearby chair, Anthony hands the Earl his brush (really, noble or not, he can do something himself) and rubs the soap on the washcloth.

"Just imagine this to be your vacances, right?" He hums lightly to himself, placing himself behind the earl, starting to rub the blond’s shoulders with the soapy washcloth.

Jarvis freezes, his mind going blank in shock. 

He turns his head just enough to look over his shoulder at Anthony; he was still trying to regain his composure, though really he does not know why he is reacting like this. It is not as if others haven’t assumed that this was what was meant by attending his bath.

"Anthony?" he begins tentatively. "You… are not required to do that." He can’t think of what else to say.  
Despite his shock he does not move away, and that confuses him even more.

"Ah—"  
Anthony simply freezes for one mortifying second, feeling his cheeks heating up and berates himself immediately for this moment of weakness. Really, it’s not like he did anything bad (misunderstanding Sharon can not be a crime) - and then he remembers the hand with the washcloth still lying on the earl’s shoulder, taking a deep breath while he removes it.

"I can though, if you want to? I mean, for a relaxing extra." He makes a few steps to the side so the lord can face him more comfortably and sheepishly offers him both cloth and soap. "Or I can leave you to your own devices and go? Up to you, milord."

Oh. Jarvis finds himself staring at the other for a moment before he forces himself to look away, eyes dropping to the water before him. “No, I don’t— I do not mind,” he is not sure how me gets the words out.

His response almost has him blushing, almost. After all he shouldn’t— he shouldn’t give Anthony the impression that he must do things like this for him. The debt is simply that, a debt. It does not mean that Anthony has to do anything more than the work he has already been given.

But it had felt so nice, almost like a massage. And he really was exhausted from his time away. Closing his eyes his shoulders slump. “You do not have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, Anthony.”

 _Awkward moment successfully averted!_  
"It’s not really a chore, milord," Anthony assures the other, a lightly joking undertone in his voice, smiling a little, because good, Jarvis didn’t mind him overstepping his tasks this time either.

He steps back behind the other, resuming running the washcloth over back, shoulders, and neck. 

It really does feel nice, Jarvis thinks lethargically as Anthony resumes rubbing the cloth over his shoulders. He had stopped allowing people to do this for him when he was little. It was not necessarily something that nobility actually required of their body servants in the first place. Though he knew that the women often used their maid’s assistance in washing their hair.  
But it was nice. The tension slowly soothed from tense muscles.

“Try not to fall asleep though, it can’t be very nice to wake up by faceplanting into water.”

The Lord chuckles at Anthony’s comment. “I am not nearly that tired,” a truth. While he found himself relaxing into the soothing touch, he also had the odd feeling of awareness. But he ignored it, in favor of this.

"Aren’t people supposed to get sleepy when they get massages?" Anthony muses out loud, encouraged by the other’s body language to rub just that little bit harder into the earl’s shoulders.

"I would not know," he mumbles the words, biting back a groan when Anthony presses against a knot. He sighs, nearly leaning into the caress. 

"I’ll admit I don’t exactly have much practice making people fall asleep, so that might be it." The boy keeps talking, running his mouth being the only way he knows to distract himself from the strange intimacy of the moment. "You could always hire someone to do this properly, I’m sure it would be good for you, after all, you don’t get to relax very often. Pretty sure reading books doesn’t count."

"I suppose I could hire someone, but—" that would simply be a bit of frivolity. Nor is he certain that he really would want to hire someone to put their hands on him. And he says as much.

"I beg to differ, reading most certainly does count,” he rolls his neck, reluctantly pulling away from the hands upon his shoulders so that he can clean.  
He tosses a smile over his shoulder, though he almost falters at the strange fluttering in his stomach. “Since you’ve arrived I’ve been more relaxed than I can remember,” those words sound strange he realises, but it was too late to retract them.

Anthony opens his mouth, but doesn’t really get to say anything - instead, his mouth quirks into a smile and he starts lightly chuckling, needing a couple seconds until he has composed himself enough to reply.  
"I have been called a lot of things, but never have I heard I’m a calming influence, that is just— I don’t think anyone but you would say something like that about me,” he brings out, wiping at his eyes, smirking at the lord, waving the washcloth. “Pardon me. I shall take it as a compliment, your weirdness.”

He mock-bows a little, sending the other a smile. “Though if that’s the truth I shudder to imagine what you’ve been like before I found my way in your kitchen.”

"I was completely fine and well-rounded. And that would be ‘oh eccentric one’, if you are going to use a word to describe me it would be best to use the correct one," he says, there is no heat in his words just amusement, while Anthony ducks his head again to chuckle lightly. 

The truth was the Earl had been immersed in work, and his duties. After all, how long had it been since he had ridden a horse simply for fun before that time only a few weeks ago? And how long since he had enjoyed the company he kept at dinner? With the exception of Loki of course. Jarvis rarely factored the other lord’s visits as they were always a mixed blessing.

The thoughts were pushed aside for the moment as he dips his head beneath the water, washing out the shampoo. When he surfaced again he wiped water from his face and gestured for the drying clothes. “Could you hand one to me please?”

Anthony nods in reply to the question, taking the first of the drying clothes he can reach to hold out to the other.

"Do you, um, want help drying off?"

"No, no that is quite alright," the words are a little rushed, though Jarvis cannot for the life of him think why the thought made a little flutter of panic bloom in his stomach. He preferred to think it was because of the simply thought of having someone that close period. Because honestly, the last time he had needed help with drying himself he was been four years old and clumsy as only a child could be. Anthony only tilts his head slightly at the quickly-spoken words, but he’s too oddly relieved to react to it otherwise.

Jarvis takes the drying cloth and finds himself avoiding the other’s eyes while Anthony is studying the floor pattern intensely, refusing to meet the other’s eyes.

"How do you do that— body servants are weird. Way too intrusive on your privacy. I suppose it doesn’t seem weird to someone who lived with them their whole life, huh?"

"It’s," he hesitates. "I suppose you simply become used to it. After a while it is not something you really notice or pay much mind to," he had always had body servants; a nanny when he was a child, a man servant when he had grown a bit older, and now a valet with the assumption of the title.  
Though now he did find that he was feeling a touch self-conscious. He finishes trying as quickly as possible, his eyes averted from the boy the entire time. He feels only marginally better when he is able to finally slip into the robe. Though there is still something about the thin cloth that makes him feel oddly vulnerable.

"One of those mixed burden/blessings that come with title and wealth I guess."

Anthony nods along with the Earl’s words because they seem very logical and he can’t do much more than agree. “I apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable— must be easier when the servant is used to it as well.”

And that is going to be Anthony’s excuse. He’s not used to it, that’s why he feels so twitchy right now and why he has trouble lifting his gaze to look at the earl fully, though he manages at some point, folding his hands behind his back.

"I suppose," the Earl says. Highly possible at least. He hardly ever noticed Elias’s presence during these times anymore. Though that may be more due to Elias’s silence than anything else.

But he could not deny that he always enjoyed speaking with the boy, it was just— Why had it seemed so strange this time? After all, this was not the first time that Sharon had sent someone else to attend him because Elias was unable to.

“Anything else you want me to do, milord?” The question interrupts Jarvis’ inner monologue, and he smiles gently, taking a seat by the fire gratefully. “No, that is quite alright. Thank you.”

If Anthony takes the opportunity to leave the room in fast strides, well, it's still not quite what you would call _fleeing the scene_ \- but it comes close.


	11. Chapter 11

_"Anthony, come here," the Earl says, the towel hanging low on his waist. It is unexpectedly hard for Anthony to tear his gaze off of the piece of fabric when he steps closer. It doesn’t matter though, Anthony is certain the other did that on purpose.  
"Yes, milord," he answers, Jarvis replying with a smile, while Anthony steps behind the other to start rubbing the noble’s neck. Anthony is a little sketchy on how he ends up in front of the Earl again, but suddenly his lips are very close to his and he’s leaning in—_

—the boy wakes with a start, out of the bed before he can tell where he is, equally bewildered and flustered as the dream replays in his mind.

It takes Anthony about half an hour to get himself together enough to dress and leave the room, sneaking about the mansion in search of Sharon, who he ends up finding in one of the bedrooms, no doubt on her control tour around the building. “Sharon, hide me,” he opens with, attiring her suspicious look.

"What did you do, Anthony?"

"Nothing, I didn’t— nobody is looking for me, but please—”

"That doesn’t mean you didn’t do anything," she replies casually but he can see the concern in the way her brows knit together, "who do you want to hide from?"

"The Earl." Anthony is looking away then, unwilling to quite meet the woman’s gaze.

"You know he’ll miss you at the dinner table."

“Thank you.”

"I didn’t say—," but at this point Anthony directs his hopeful smiling expression full force on her, and she throws her hands up in defeat, "oh, damn you. Fine.”

When the midday meal came and he had not yet seen Anthony, Jarvis thought nothing of it. After all, the boy was known for sleeping in whenever he could. When he found himself blinking up at the clock at the wall wondering where the time had gone when Sharon interrupts his work with a tray of afternoon tea he thinks that perhaps the boy was simply busy. Although it was a touch unusual that the former stray had not stopped by even once in an attempt to pull him away from ‘the soul sucking existence that is paperwork’. Though he did start to wonder as the rest of the afternoon past and he had not seen the boy once.

But as he sat through the evening meal completely alone he began to worry. After all, it had become their custom that, regardless of propriety, Anthony would join him (unless of course the lord was entertaining visitors, and that was less fear of impropriety and more saving them from Anthony giving the lot heart attacks). It had even progressed to the point where the cook prepared two plates.

It was almost unnerving to have someone else step through those door with his food. “Where is Anthony?” Surely if something had happened to the boy the staff would have informed him.

The shrug he receives in answer is very unsatisfying.

"Anthony, you can’t hide forever."

"I can busy myself down here for at least two more days," he replies, not lifting his head to look at Sharon who sighs deeply at him.

"He asked for you, you know." That does get Anthony’s attention, his gaze lifting to meet hers.

"But I—"

"And anyways I won’t bring you any food down here, so you better move your butt to the dining room unless you want to sleep on the stone floor with a growling stomach."  
She turns on her heels, huffing to herself. _Boys._

Anthony first considers stubbornly staying on the sub-level of the mansion (creaky doors and dust all around, there’s work for a while around here, if he runs out of things to do he can just start dusting off wine bottles), but it only takes about ten minutes before his stomach does actually start growling.

He often suffered hunger on the streets and he can deal with it, but his mind procures him with the image of the fully decked dining table only a staircase and a couple steps away - and damnit, he’s hungry.

Another five minutes, then his treacherous imagination sends him upstairs, shuffling awkwardly past Elias who raises an eyebrow at him (and probably his state of clothing because there’s dust even in his hair) and sneaks as quietly as possible into the dining room, his eyes on the ground.

When the door opens again Jarvis looks up almost hopefully, a grin spreading across his face when he sees who it is. Though the smile dims when the boy will not meet his eyes. “Anthony, I had wondered if you were lost in work,” his smile is gentler now, knowing. “After all those times that you have admonished me about working through meals.”

He remembered, vaguely, Sharon mentioning about how hard the boy was working today. Though the thought that Anthony had been so caught up in his work that he would miss a meal had been a surprise. He well knew that Anthony hated missing a meal, despite his claims that hunger was a mild thing to deal with.

"There is a lot of work to do in the cellars, milord," Anthony answers vaguely, and when he sits down makes the mistake of looking up at Jarvis, meeting the other’s startling blue eyes.

Maybe it’s those eyes that have a hypnotic effect on him and temporarily disable his brain or something because Anthony has no idea why the following few words even tumble over his lips: “But actually I’ve tried to actively avoid you.”

It was on the tip of the Earl’s tongue to quote the boy’s words from just a week ago, but it quickly died when Anthony blurted out those words. Well that… almost hurt.

As soon as the words are out Anthony buries his face in his hands, groaning quietly. Just why is he so stupid around the other? It’s— so embarrassing.

Perhaps the young lord would have continued to wallow in feelings of such insecurity if not for Anthony’s own antics. For a moment he can only stare in confusion as the boy buries his face in his hands. Despite himself a smile beings to resurface and he fights against the giggles threatening to erupt from his throat. Which was more difficult than he had anticipated. He slapped a hand over his mouth when he almost failed.

Anthony peeks through his fingers - and spots the earl fighting not to roll off the chair from subdued laughter. He sighs into his palm and then lets his hands drop from his face, pouting a little. “We can just forget this ever happened,” he suggests, trying not to sound too hopeful about it.

Probably too late for that. It’s highly unlikely the earl’s suspicions aren’t already raised. After all, one would want to know for the reason they’ve been avoided, wouldn’t they?

Jarvis doesn’t know how long it takes him to get himself back under control, a few minutes at least. He finally brings himself back under control, his worry and insecurity bring a sobering influence. What had he done that could have made the other avoid him the entire day? He cannot recall anything, and that is almost terrifying. If there was one thing he found he prized these days, it was the friendship he had forged so easily with the other.

But he found that he could not fight the dread at the thought of finding out. What if… No, he forcefully pushed the thought aside. It would be better to know, so that he could not jeopardize their friendship again.

"What— why?" He internally sighs, it appears his ever present eloquence had completely deserted him.

Anthony immediately feels himself blush and briefly curses the fact he’s taken the hands off his face. He really can’t repeat the gesture without looking like a right idiot.

"I— it’s really rather embarrassing, milord."

He doesn’t see a way out, how to tell the earl that he doesn’t want to tell him without making the other want to know - curiosity is a trait that is strong in Anthony himself, and he’d be a hypocrite denying it to Jarvis.

"There was— I dreamed up something embarrassing. Surely a prank played on me by my own mind, but facing you reminds me of it—"

A dream? Jarvis could not help but be a bit confused by the confession. An embarrassing dream he had claimed. Had it been something to do with his debt? For the life of him he could not think of a scenario that could generate enough embarrassment in the mind of the boy that he would actively try to avoid the lord. After all, he barely even batted an eye at reminders of their first meeting anymore. And he had easily shrugged off the incident on the horse, which was the most potentially embarrassing incident that Jarvis could recall.

He wanted to ask. So badly did he want to ask. To know what possibly could have set the boy off like that. He tapped his fingers, nodding as the serving boy brought in the main course, this time two plates.

The whole time he found he could not pull his attention away from the boy, curiosity warring with respect of privacy. He tried to take the middle ground. “Do you wish to tell me? Or is the image still too embarrassing?”

Anthony purses his lips and frowns at the earl, sheepishly reaching up to scratch his head, then grabs a bite of food to buy some time while he chews.

Taking a bit more time than strictly necessary until he swallows, he sighs and faces the other. “If I do, I just— I don’t know if you will— just don’t think badly of me for it. I’ve no say in what I dream up, after all.”

He’s still stalling and highly aware of it as he fiddles around with his glass, not quite looking at Jarvis when he starts speaking again. “Um, I dreamed of you in nothing but a towel.”  
There is no way to have put this in anyway that’s more sensible sounding than this, but Anthony still cringes at his own words, biting his tongue hard, because he’ll be damned if he says any more or gives any more details on what he dreamed.

If he could get anymore surprised by the direction of this conversation Jarvis was certain his head would literally start spinning. The best he could come to figure out was that the dream must had stemmed from the other day, when Sharon had sent the boy up to attend him with the bath. He had simply not realised how embarrassing the incident must have been for the lad.

His fingers began to tap nervously against the table top again, and for a moment he found himself unable to look over at Anthony. With effort he does so, eyeing the other tentatively.

"It must have been um," and now he found himself at a loss for words again. "That incident must have left quite the impression to generate a dream like that," if he had known that Anthony had been so horrified by it he would have done something earlier. Then again, he remembered the boy’s comments, how he could not imagine having someone else attend him like that. Having to do that must have been quite an imposition on the former stray. Hadn’t he promised when he hired the boy that he would not have to do something like that?

This time when Jarvis covered his mouth it was not to hold in laughter. He felt mortified at his own actions. (What actions one would wonder? But that was not a thought that crossed his mind.) It was a fear he harboured, betraying his new found friend’s trust. And Anthony was a friend, regardless of status and obligations. The debt notwithstanding.

Even biting on his tongue doesn’t hinder Anthony from groaning out loud again, offering his palms in a show of defeat. “I am so, so sorry,” he begins, “my, um, my apologies, milord.”

He drops his head on the table, giving the other the puppy look from below, aiming to appeal to the earl’s sense of pity. “I made you feel uncomfortable, didn’t I? That’s just what I— well, clearly I wasn’t thinking clearly, because if I was I could’ve just acted like nothing ever happened and we wouldn’t have this conversation.”

Anthony smiles sheepishly, feeling more clear-headed now that he’s got a mission and that mission is to not let Lord Thompson throw him out or start avoiding Anthony in turn, because for some reason that train of thought is not acceptable.

"No no," Jarvis waves the apologies away. "It should be I who is apologising. I had told you at the beginning that I would not cross any boundaries," his mind whirling as he reviewed every other interaction for fear he had crossed the boundaries more times than he had thought.

He was so lost in his roiling thoughts that he almost does not hear what the boy says. “Anthony, no, you must tell me if I ever make you uncomfortable in such a way.”

 _‘Crossing boundaries’?_ Frowning, Anthony straightens in his seat. Tell the earl when he’s thinking inappropriate thoughts or dreaming inappropriate dreams about him?  
That is just—  
—he can’t possibly do that.

"Milord— maybe you misunderstand," Anthony ventures, saying the words slowly, because it’s a whole new level of mortifying to have to explain to the earl what exactly he is misunderstanding.

But there’s no way around it, and Anthony gets out of his seat to walk around the table, drawing out the chair at the Earl’s right and sitting on it sideways, facing the lord.

"I did not have some sort of nightmare including you in a towel, and I didn't feel violated in any way by you bathing in my presence - I’m not that much of a fragile flower, milord.” He smiles a little, shifting nervously on his chair before he pulls it just a little closer to the other, their noses a couple inches apart only.

Anthony leans so close, so close that their noses are almost touching and Jarvis can see individual flecks in the boy’s eyes, he finds himself unable to speak, his brain going blank for a moment. Whether from shock or… something else he is uncertain.

"This is all that happened in my dream, and I was worried you’d— feel violated yourself what with me dreaming of you in that— compromising position." Anthony swallows, then shifts away again, needing to put some more distance between himself and Jarvis. The closeness is making it hard to focus and he can’t use that right now.

“I—” Jarvis forces himself to stop before he ends up babbling.

Because what is he supposed to say to that? He’s not even sure if he actually understands it. (Though a small part of his mind does comprehend the implication. No, he cannot allow himself to go there. Anthony was contracted to him and still under a heavy debt, despite the generous pay the boy was receiving for his work around the manor.)

He can’t help but glance away, trying to gather his thoughts, because no, he did not just think that. He did not assume a meaning behind the boy’s actions for even a second.

”So it should be me who’s apologizing. You didn’t do anything that would warrant an apology, whereas I had an inappropriate dream and then overreacted on it.”

"You know, had you not avoided me so suddenly we would not even be having this conversation," best to go for a bit more light-hearted atmosphere.

"I know," Anthony all but sighs in reply. For some reason his brain seemed to have gone on stand-by after waking up. "Obviously I failed to think this through at all. Sorry for putting you through that much embarrassment."

Because that was what Anthony thought that silence on Lord Thompson’s end was - bone-deep embarrassment. What else could it have been, really?

The corners of the Earl’s lips quirk up. "After all, I am hardly a mind reader. That has never been a skill I managed to pick up. Which is a pity as I am certain it would have its uses, especially when dealing with some of my associates."

Anthony shakes his head, lips curling up in a show of amusement, raising an eyebrow at his employer. “Surely it’s best not to know what exactly people think - it’s just my fault I’m such an open book, in my case telepathy is completely unnecessary.” _Especially when it comes to you._

"But on the bright side, I’m sure most of your associates would be terrified of you digging up their deepest, darkest secrets. Business talk would suddenly become much more interesting.”

Perhaps the only sane reaction to this situation was to laugh. And so Jarvis did, throwing his head back and just laughing, it was some time before he could bring his amusement (and perhaps a touch of mild hysteria) under control. There were still hiccups of laughter as he speaks.

"Oh I am most certain that they would enjoy me tormenting them in such a manner. I wonder how many feathers I would manage to ruffle among the Ton if I were to start spouting off family secrets whenever they started looking askance at some of my own actions.”

The change of subject was almost enough to alleviate his earlier worry, but the confusion still lingered. Thoughts and ideas that he was afraid to even contemplate.

Anthony smirks in reply, rising an eyebrow. “You would be the horror of any party, milord,” he drawls, and rises out of his chair.  
"Maybe it’s time for another writing lesson? I have slept enough, so I shouldn’t fall asleep on the desk this time."

Then again, the way Anthony remembers it, the Earl had found his cheek smudged with ink highly amusing, so maybe he wouldn’t even mind as much if it happened again.

(Seriously, Lord Thompson and his— strange sense of humor. It would be confusing if it wasn’t strangely endearing.  
And cue a silent vow to never for as long as he breathes tell the Earl that Anthony had just thought of him as _endearing._ )

"Honestly, I think your sense of humor suits your eccentricity, milord."

"Thank you, I suppose. That is one of the oddest yet kindest compliments I have received to date," Jarvis drawls as he leans back in his seat, watching Anthony curiously. Eventually he pushes aside his plate, standing and tilting his head in a clear invitation to follow. "I almost think that soon you will no longer require these lessons. Your handwriting has improved by leaps and bounds."

Anthony smiles widely at that, having to curb his enthusiasm so he won’t end up walking in front of the Earl instead.


	12. Chapter 12

Jarvis stares down at the parchment, wiping his brow. _It seems as if today is going to be one of those extra warm summer days,_ he muses fuzzily as he tries to pick out individual words. His eyes were starting to droop, perhaps the heat is making him sleepy. _Why is it so warm?_

It is then that the door opens and Anthony comes in, bearing a tray of tea. The boy has taken to joining him for a cup on occasion ever since the time he had avoided Jarvis the whole day, as if he were hoping to make up for it. Though Jarvis found he did not mind. It was nice to be forced to take a break like this, and Anthony’s company is never a burden. But as Jarvis stands to join the boy in the small sitting area he wobbles, barely catching himself with a hand on his desk before he falls.

Anthony sets the tray of tea down before he turns to face Lord Thompson, just in time to see the other drop to the floor.

He can only hope the Earl didn’t hear him scream like a scared Lady, but that is his first reaction before he bounds over to the Earl, checking that the pulse is still there (which it is, all alternatives don’t bear thinking about), and then jogs out of the room, maybe sounding a little panicked as he yells for help.

It’s Sharon that takes him aside as Jarvis gets transported into his chambers and talks to him calmly. “Sh, Anthony, stop lookin’ as if you’d seen a ghost— Lord Thompson has worked himself in bad shape, is all. It’s good you were there, you did well.”

"I suppose that isn’t exactly the first time this happens," Anthony replies, still oddly pale, but sounding calmer when he looks at Sharon now, and sees her shaking her head.  
 _Lord Thompson can be such an idiot._

"Hey, Anthony, how about I give you a task? You go and check up on him every now and then, see that he ain’t trying to escape his bed and bring him soup and tea. Yeah?"  
The distraction works - Anthony’s cheek lose some of it’s paleness as he nods in turn. “Of course.”

\----

"You’re tending to him?"

"Yes, Doctor."

The doctor sends Anthony a smile, offering a hand that the other hesitatingly accepts. “Bruce Banner. Don’t look so worried, the Earl will be fine. Just make sure he doesn’t try to start working before he’s healthy again, and try make him drink a lot of liquids. The thing he needs most is rest.”

"Thank you, Doctor Banner. I shall remember that."

\----

It’s both too hot and too cold, and he can’t get away from either. Jarvis isn’t certain how long it is before he manages to open his eyes, staring up at the canopied ceiling. _Why do the beds always have to have canopies?_ It is a fevered query but his brain supplies the answer soon after. _Oh yes, because it can be cold and drafty._ "So there is actual logic to it," by this point Jarvis isn’t certain what he has said aloud, and what is whispered only in the privacy of his own mind.

There was something he needed to do… but what?

The sound of rustling makes him turn his head, at the sight of his stray he tries to sit up, a weak smile gracing his features despite how very miserable he feels.

"Anthony," he struggles to sit up more, blinking when his vision seems to swim for a moment. Why is it so hot? And why is he so cold? "I think I need to do something. What do I need to do?"

Anthony is determined to get Lord Thompson back in his best shape whether he wants to or not, and hence takes his so-called ‘responsibilities’ very serious indeed, at the first sign of the Earl trying to get up he’s at the bedside pushing him back down into the covers on his shoulders.

It’s not like he has to push hard - Jarvis is obviously weakened and feverish - but his hands still tingle from the contact when he puts a damp cloth on the other’s forehead. “Sleep,” he replies simply, “what you need to do is sleep. Anyways I’m not allowing you to get up for anything but the toilet anytime soon. How do you feel about drinking some tea? Or soup?”

It should not be that easy for his stray to push him back like that. Or maybe he is letting him? Jarvis’ fevered mind cannot distinguish between the two at the moment. Instead he blinks up at Anthony for a moment. “How do you drink tea if you are laying down?” he asks almost plaintively. _Why does my throat feel like it’s closed?_

"You’re allowed to sit up, milord, but you better don’t try to do it yourself, or I might have to sit on you,” Anthony replies, a hint of teasing in his tone of voice, but it’s toned down enough to hardly be noticeable. It’s not really fun to make fun of someone who’s too out of it to even notice they’re being made fun of, after all.

Jarvis frowns in confusion. When has his task ever been to simply lay down? That was for when one could not move. He could still move. As if to demonstrate the fact the man tries to sit up again, before falling back down again and moaning pitifully. He can’t move.

Anthony can’t help the worried look, though it’s hard to say how much of it Jarvis really notices at the moment.

"But there is so much to do," he stares up at the brunet in confusion, his attention only distracted by the strange parched, yet swelled feeling of his throat. "I think I will take that tea now."

The boy takes the cloth off of Jarvis’ forehead again, sitting on the bed to push and pull the Earl into a sitting position, holding out the cup to the other. “It’s got some honey in it,” he informs his lord, his voice soft as he scans the other for symptoms, “that’s supposed to be good for your throat. Maybe you should try not to speak too much. And whatever there is to do comes second right after you being healthy enough to do it. Doctor Banner said it’s just the flu, but you shouldn’t have waited until you collapsed-” _gave me a right scare, you did._

Jarvis can’t really taste the tea, or at least more precisely he does not notice if it has a taste. But there is something nice about it, and while his throat doesn’t feel better, per se, for a little while it doesn’t feel as terrible as it had before.

When he regains his health he will inevitably be embarrassed that he had been so hopeless that he even needed help sitting up and even drinking. 

Even that small act, assisted though he was, seemed to exhaust him. Falling back against the pillows with a sigh he tries to keep his eyes open, fighting against the weights that seemed to have suddenly attached themselves to his lids. “Anthony,” even his voice sounded weak. That was strange. “Why are there weights on my eyes?” A valid question, he thought. Hmm, did he actually manage to say it out loud this time? “Sleeping… can’t sleep,” he just barely manages to get the words out before he slips into slumber.

Anthony carefully pries the tea cup from the other’s fingers, shushing the Earl as he watches him go back to sleep. _Why are there weights on my eyes._ Fever does strange things to his employer, really - Anthony brushes over the other’s forehead, laying his palm across it to measure the temperature, confirming what he already knows - Jarvis is burning up - and lingering just a touch too long before he realizes what he’s doing and snatches his hand back as if burnt.

It’s strange, but looking at Lord Thompson like that, Anthony keeps wanting to - touch him in some way or another, maybe lie next to him and hold onto him to make sure he doesn’t try to move any more than necessary - whether to comfort himself or the Earl, he isn’t sure. and the boy frowns at himself, looking down onto the Earl’s sleeping form, before he shakes the strange feeling off.

It doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t worry about things like that - what he needs to focus on is to bring the Earl back to health. It’s that thought that brings him back to the task at hand, putting the cool, damp cloth back on the Earl’s forehead before sitting down next to the bed, bracing himself for an extended waiting period.

Jarvis' dreams are scattered and half formed after that. There is no difference between sleep and awakening to his brain, they all roll into one for a while. There are some moments of which he is more aware, though later they will form foggy memories that he would never be certain if they had happened or if he had simply dreamed them up.

There was the cold cloth against his brow and low soothing words. He couldn’t grasp most of them, though they often sounded like admonishments. 'No, you can't get up' 'Stop asking' 'The paperwork is being done, really Elias may start to think you don't trust him'. It all sounded like Anthony, but that was ridiculous wasn’t it? Why would his stray want to stay and take care of him?

But it was a nice dream despite it all.

Anthony is growing tired and it shows in circles under his eyes. Every now and then, Sharon comes to tut at him and banish him to his own room for a few hours, but sleep doesn’t come easily for some reason and it’s sooner rather than later that he’s at Jarvis’ bedside again, trying to guess at what the Earl needs before the other’s awake enough to tell him.  
He’s talking all the time, even though he isn’t sure Jarvis is even hearing him, but sometimes there’s a murmured reply and that helps calm Anthony’s nerves for some reason.  
 _He’ll be fine, you’ll see, he’ll be up and working again in no time._

Jarvis becomes aware only in increments. The first moment of clear thought is just after the fever has broken, he is aware of being soaked to the skin, shivering when a draft flows over sweat soaked skin. And someone bringing over a cloth and water to help wipe it all away. The next is much later, his throat is still sore, and feels parched, despite vague memories of cool water touching his lips in his delirium, but it is not a pressing concern. He still feels terrible, woozy and lightheaded, and weak like a kitten.

"Good morning," the boy greets in the same low tones he’s used since Jarvis has landed in this bed, "milord, do you feel you could sit up and drink some more tea?"

The tea is a delight, and at least this time Jarvis can actually taste it. A bit. Well, he can more or less appreciate it and the effect it has on his throat. His mind still feels fuzzy, but at least now he can grasp what has happened. He is ill, obviously bed-ridden, which means he is inevitably going to be scolded by a long line of people, starting with Sharon and possibly including Loki who will appear out of the blue as usual.

He doesn’t know if he manages to murmur a thanks before he slips back into the bliss of a healing sleep.

Interminable hours later, the earl comes aware again. The things he realises is that he feels warm. Not unbearably hot, but that comfortable warmth that comes in the mornings when you are just waking up. The next is that he has absolutely no idea what time or day it is, which seems odd for a moment because Jarvis always knows this. With the curtains drawn there's no telling the time from looking outside, and when the Earl turns his head to seek out the clock he is halted by the sight of Anthony. His stray is asleep slumped forward in his chair to rest his head against the mattress.

Dark curls frame his face, doing little to hide the dark circles under the boy’s eyes, the exhaustion plain. There is something gentle about his face in sleep, but the hint of the manic energy is still there, it may always be there. He can’t seem to help it. A hand reaches out, the shakiness surprising Jarvis, before he rests a hand lightly on top of the mess of curls.

It definitely wasn’t Anthony’s intention to fall asleep his head on the Earl’s mattress, and the slight touch to his head is only vaguely registered, and not necessarily as something unpleasant - he murmurs something incomprehensible, shifting ever so slightly, before his mind provides him with the information that he’s in an impossibly uncomfortable position, every single limb aching—

—and someone is touching him—

—he wakes with a start, almost falling over, throwing the Earl a disoriented, wide-eyed look.

"M’sorry," he says, voice heavy with not enough sleep, blinking confusedly, because was that Lord Thompson’s hand just now? How strange… "y’can’t get up— I’ve no more tea, I think."

Jarvis can tell that the boy is running on autopilot. His hand falls away as Anthony startles, and he pushes away the strange longing to put it back. “I do not think I could get up if I really wanted,” a truth for the moment. He is aware enough to keenly feel how weak the illness had left him. A few days rest and hopefully Doctor Banner would clear him to actually be able to leave the bed. But he well knew that Sharon would continue tutting for weeks to come.

"You’re feeling better," Anthony replies, a small smile stretching on his face, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand before he straightens with a little wince, rubbing his neck.

"A pity about the tea really," what memories he had about the tea were pleasant. "But I would not object to some of the water I see in that pitcher," he gives the boy a wry smile. "If you yourself feel up to pouring a measure," really, hi— the boy looks like he went a round with the cold himself.

Focusing on the pitcher Anthony frowns at the wording of _if you feel up to pouring_ and lifts the pitcher with determination, pouring a glass and holding it out to Jarvis without spilling more than a few drops on the carpet.

Jarvis summons another smile as he takes the glass. His hands are still somewhat shaky. Honestly he is proud of the fact that he manages to not spill any as he brings the glass to his lips, taking a few careful sips. The water is cool and soothing against his throat and he savors the brief relief it affords his parched throat.

"No problem at all, milord. Anything else?" Anthony asks, feeling as if the next moment he puts his head down he’ll be gone again, no matter the place, and his overall stiffness be damned. Right now, Anthony is definitely running low on energy.

Anthony really does look terrible. The circles under his eyes are dark and his face is haggard with exhaustion. It almost makes Jarvis feel guilty for accidentally waking the boy up. The boy didn’t even look up to walking the length of the house back to his room.

An idea coming to him, he rests his fingers lightly against the back of one of Anthony’s hands. “No, nothing else,” the bed was large, more than enough for two to share comfortably without getting in the way of each other. Tilting his head just enough to indicate the expanse of mattress he looks up into the boy’s eyes. “You look as exhausted as I feel and honestly I hardly use most of this bed. I can promise it will be infinitely more comfortable than that chair.”

Anthony blinks, and then blinks again, tilting his head in question. “I um,” he says, not very eloquently, before fully realizing what Jarvis is suggesting, and blinks again before his cheeks color ever so slightly, “yes, well.”

Pausing, Anthony gives a mental shrug.

"I really do feel tired," he finally admits, eyeing the mattress. But would it not be… inappropriate? It’s not like his body listens to his mind anyways, because he is almost dropping into the sheets before he’s finished thinking up reasons why he shouldn’t. "Thank you," he mumbles into the cushion, curling up contentedly and too far gone to really mind the distance between him and the Earl.

Jarvis watches the boy sleep for a while, something warm blooming in his chest at the sight. He wondered how long Anthony had sat in that chair, it would explain some of those illness-clouded memories. He still can’t quite bring himself to believe that the boy had truly been worried enough to stay by his side so long. It confused him to think that this may have been the truth of the matter.

The illness had taken its toll and he found himself starting to drift towards sleep again. But just before he drifted to sleep he found himself reaching out and brushing aside a strand of hair from Anthony’s slumbering face.

Jarvis falls asleep to the sight of his stray sleeping beside him.

\----

One of the points of ‘why not to sleep in Lord Thompson’s bed’ for Anthony would have been - if he had been in any state to think of all of them - that his sleeping habits have always been rather annoying for whoever was sleeping next to him.  
(He’s been compared to an octopus once.)

Like this, he gravitates subconsciously towards the body warmth next to him while he sleeps, ending up curled at Lord Thompson’s side, his nose touching the Earl’s shoulder.  
When he blinks awake after a few hours of surprisingly deep sleep, he freezes in that position - an arm curled around Lord Thompson’s arm, his nose almost in the Earl’s neck - and when the other stirs, Anthony backs off so fast he almost falls out of the bed entirely.

Jarvis had never really shared a bed with another person before. Sure there had been occasions that had necessitated close quarters, but he had never actually shared a bed. He will freely admit that he slept too deeply to know what it was like to sleep next to Anthony. What he does know is that he slept deeply and that he woke up feeling warm and content.

He only had a few spar seconds, as he dozed in that realm somewhere between sleep and wakening, to register that his stray had curled close to him in the night. And then that warmth is gone suddenly, as if ripped away.

"Sorry, milord," Anthony says, knowing that he’s blushing, "I didn’t do that intentionally—"

Yawning widely the Earl blinks up at the boy sleepily. “Do what intentionally?”

"For not, uh, staying on my side of the bed," Anthony replies, sheepishly reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, avoiding the Earl’s eyes - and his gaze lands on a new tea set at the bedside table.

Someone had come in and— and seen them— seen Anthony cuddling to an Earl as if either of them was a teddy bear—  
—and it’s all Anthony’s fault in the first place.

"I should not have fallen asleep here," he mumbles, sounding unconvinced even to himself, but feeling like that is what he’s supposed to say as he climbs out of the sheets, "I’m here to tend to you, after all."

He walks around the bed to inspect the tea set, realizing that the tea was warm. Not too long ago that someone was in there then, and unlikely that Anthony wasn’t getting way too intrusive on the Earl’s personal space at the point - Anthony frowns a little, pouring a cup of tea in silence and offering it to Jarvis without asking if the other feels like drinking.

\-----

It was no secret that Lord Thompson kept odd hours. He would routinely stay up until the early hours of the morning, and woke up with the sun. Banner often castigated him over his sleeping habits, but it could hardly be his fault that he had such trouble sleeping (that time during his illness aside, sleep was so often hard for him to find).

But such things often meant that he could encounter some strange sights. Normally they were seen from the window of his town house. Or in one instance a certain stray wandering into his kitchen. But such sights were much rarer while at his country estate. Something about such a widely dispersed population and a place where few people were out and about in the odd hours of the night.

He had never expected to encounter this particular sight however.

There was Anthony, his st—, wandering past his open door down the corridor. Curiosity gripped him and so he decided to follow, calling out his name before he took note of the boy’s gait. He was walking strangely. It took only a moment before the puzzle pieces fell into place.

Oh how precious, he was sleepwalking.

At having his name called, Anthony, even asleep, turns towards the source - his eyes are open but not really seeing - a mumble of _m’lord_ leaving his lips before he continues his path down the corridor, the wooden floor occasionally creaking under the soles of his bare feet.

He seems to be heading towards the staircase.

Jarvis hurries after the boy, only just catching him before he stepped into empty space and took a possible tumble down the staircase. It would have certainly been quite the rude awakening.

"Hey hey, stop that now," he has a firm hold upon the boy's shoulders, not wanting to give anything to chance.

Instead he turns his sleepwalking stray around and gently guides him back down the corridor. “I hope this was not a habit you indulged in on the streets,” he keeps his voice soft, not wanting to wake him. Who would have thought, Anthony sleepwalked. He found himself endeared to the unexpected habit. Looking over at the boy he felt something flutter in his chest. Shaking his head he pushed the strange feeling aside until he could examine it at a later time.

At the touch, Anthony stiffens, stopping in his tracks, but letting the Earl guide him anyways, somehow his body relaxing at the soft tones of that familiar voice.

"M’gings ta bed," he mumbles, letting the words follow up with a soft - but surprisingly clearly pronounced - "Jarvis."

"Yes, we are taking you to your bed," his voice still low and soothing as he leads him down the hall. ‘Jarvis’ he almost can’t believe that he heard that. Anthony only ever called him lord or sir. He is so lost in thought that he is taken wholly by surprise when the boy takes a sharp turn and walks straight into the lord’s bedroom.

It takes a moment for his mind to catch up to what just happened. When he has finally rallied himself and followed Anthony into his bed chamber it was to find the former stray already curled up beneath the covers.

It took all his control to muffle his laughter so as to not wake the boy. Well, they had shared a bed before, and Jarvis felt guilty at even the thought of waking the boy up. So he just readies himself for sleep and crawls into his bed. Thankfully Anthony had left him room. That was an advantage at least.

When he is finally situated he finds himself looking at Anthony again. This is the third time he has gotten to see him sleeping.

The young lord falls asleep with the hint of a smile gracing his lips.

\-----

Anthony gravitates towards warmth.

It is the sort of instinct you can’t help developing when you don’t have a roof over your head in a London winter, and it probably proved to be life-saving on one occasion or the other.

But when you share your bed with someone that is not there to cuddle with, Anthony feels one day he might just get hung for it. Or give himself a heart attack upon waking up.

This is not his bed and his arm is tingling all over from having fallen asleep - because he’s gotten way too close to his employer, again, and he can’t help from panicking a little in that situation because _ohmygodohmygod_ —

He shifts away from the other, but his arm is trapped under the Earl’s head and Anthony is _in so much trouble how did he even get here_. His heartbeat is hammering against his chest as he tries to pull his arm away, but then the other shifts and Anthony freezes, meeting blue eyes like a deer caught in the headlights.

It takes a moment for Jarvis to register what he was seeing, because really, it’s just so nice and warm, and for once all he really wants to do is go back to sleep. His first instinct upon seeing Anthony is to smile, warm and languid as he stretches and nuzzles into his pillow. Which is not his pillow… It’s too hard to be his pillow, and it takes a moment for him to realise that he’s been sleeping on Anthony’s arm, Anthony himself blushing at the motion, the half-asleep smile not helping at all in aiding him to regain his composure.

Jarvis blinks in mild confusion at the length of arm stretching from beneath his head and leading back to his stray. Who had an expression on his face that Jarvis’s sleep-muddled brain can’t quite interpret at the moment. Sitting up he rubs his eyes, trying to shake the cobwebs from his mind, while Anthony slowly slinks off the bed until he’s basically sitting on the floor next to it, hiding his face in the mattress.

For a moment Jarvis wonders why the boy is awake so early, or if he himself had slept in too late. But then he remembers, a soft _“Oh”_ leaving his lips at the memory that Anthony is here not because he is bringing tea or waking up the Earl, but because he had sleepwalked. A pure accident. For some reason, the thought feels like a disappointment.

Much more awake now he smiles down at the boy. “Good morning. Anthony. I trust you slept well?” How do you act professional after this? The way that the former stray is looking at him is disheartening to say the least. “Apparently you sometimes sleepwalk,” he tries to keep his smile, though it’s difficult when Anthony is looking at him as if he did something horrible.

He sleepwalked. Straight into the Earl’s bed. Spending a few moments quietly cursing his subconscious (because dreaming about such things is bad enough) Anthony finally lifts his head to meet Jarvis’ hesitant smile.

"Good morning, milord," he replies, the formal tone belied by the way his voice is rough from sleep, "you know, you don’t— you could’ve woken me up, I wouldn’t have taken it badly, I think, I mean— pardon me, please."

The problem with getting something you never even realised you wanted was that it made it all the more painful when it was taken away. Jarvis doesn’t think he’s ever been more disappointed to hear the formal address directed at him than in this moment. Hearing that milord made him suddenly feel so alone, even though his stray was standing only a few feet away.

"You know," he starts wistfully. "You may call me by my name if you wish," it would be so nice if Anthony accepted this small offer of friendship. He was so tired of being alone.

"Your name?," Anthony parrots as a question, not really comprehending what the Lord is talking about in his own sleep-addled state, blinking.  
"You wish for me to call you by your name?"

The concept and the implications of such a thing are mind-blowing. It would make them equals in conversation - Anthony Stark from the streets and Lord Jarvis Thompson, Earl of Aitherton.

"Well, I did call your name a couple times, but no harm has come of this has it?" The small joke lets Anthony’s lips quirk into a small smile, and Jarvis catches himself praying that he had not ruined what small friendship he had by allowing the boy to stay, sincerely hoping his mistake had not driven away the only person willing to actually join him in the dining room.

“Naturally. Though I’m sure Lord Friggason would gasp in shock, if you want me to call you Jarvis, it is of no hardship to me.”

He’ll probably have to practice saying Jarvis without sounding inappropriately upbeat about it, but otherwise, no hardship at all.

(Then again, it might become harder to remember that there’s supposed to be distance between them…)

At the sound of his name Jarvis can’t stop a smile. “See? Not quite so hard now was it,” his smile widens at the mention of Loki, rolling his eyes at even the thought. “Oh he would possibly do more than gasp. He might outright faint. Which I admit would be quite the hilarious sight to see,” and it would serve the other lord right.

There is something so very familiar but simultaneously strange about hearing his given name spoken out loud. He so rarely got to hear it, and he felt himself relaxing at just the sound.

Straightening into a standing position suddenly - too suddenly, as shown by the way he almost faceplants right back into the bed - Anthony inclines his head to the other. “I apologise for having disturbed you, and, um, I’ll return to my room at once—”

The Lord simply sighs. Perhaps he had ruined everything. “I suppose you must return, hadn’t you? So that you may change and get ready for the day,” and get away from me.

"Yes, I— I should—," the only problem is suddenly Anthony doesn’t quite want to leave the Earl alone in here. Something about the other’s tone of voice keeps him rooted to the spot. "Are you feeling alright, mil— Jarvis? Pardon my tendency of invading your privacy like this—"

Jarvis is lost so deep in thought he almost misses Anthony’s question. “Hmm? Oh, no, don’t— you do not need to apologise,” but how does he say that he actually slept better next to Anthony. He is just about to say more when he hesitates. How did you say that you actually liked slee— you didn’t. You couldn’t, could you?  
It would only drive one of his few friends away again.

The Earl opens his mouth but found he had no words. _Because I don’t mind. I wouldn’t mind if you kept coming back. I don’t know why but—_  
He lets out a sigh and smiles ruefully. “I did not mind.”

Anthony tilts his head in a show of vague confusion.  
"If you say so," he finally replies, not entirely convinced by the overly long pause between ‘you don’t need to apologise’ and ‘I did not mind’. Maybe Lord Thompson feels bad since Anthony hadn’t gotten any note-worthy amount of sleep while tending for his sick Lord, and that was why he felt obligated to show Anthony such kindness.

Not that Jarvis Thompson needs a reason to show kindness, but this is exceptional even when considering the eccentric Earl’s habits.

"Do you want me to go set breakfast? Well, after I get dressed, of course."

Usually, Anthony sleeps much longer than that, but since he is already awake - and was the reason for which Jarvis is awake now, too - he might as well go and make himself useful.

"If you please," he smiles. "And perhaps you might join me? I realise we have not had breakfast with one another since that first morning," he grins cheekily. "Perhaps we could discuss how good your penmanship is."

Anthony nods and is out of the room in a heartbeat, feeling an odd kind of relief about being able to flee. He needs to collect himself. Waking up next to Lord Thompson would be enough to frazzle his nerves, but what followed— his heart is pounding uncomfortably against his rib cage.

When he’s awake, he can fight that pull towards the other he feels, but when he acts upon it when asleep, what can he do to stop it? What if he ends up sleepwalking into the other’s bed regularly? And even when the Earl already has company?

When Anthony has left, ostensibly to change out of his sleeping clothes and then retrieve breakfast Jarvis lapses into thought. He dresses on autopilot, hands going through the motions with the ease of long practice.

He is confused.  
Confused about his reaction to Anthony.  
He had not wanted him to leave. And that was… strange. For a moment the only thing he had wanted to do was pull Anthony back to the bed and curl up against him, sharing warmth and comfort. If he closed his eyes he could almost remember the feel of Anthony sleeping beside him. Without the former stray’s presence in the room his absence could be felt even more keenly. It was as if a bright light had suddenly been taken away.  
What is happening?

The dark-haired young man slams the door to his room behind him shut, groaning loudly into the quiet that greets him. A lot of questions, and he has no single answer for any of them.

Before he moves to dress himself, the boy slides down the door he just shut until he’s sitting and leaning onto it, lightly and repeatedly banging his head onto the wood behind him. No doubt about it, Anthony is doomed.

It takes the boy a few moments of deep self-pitying before he gets himself together, dressing and then venturing out of the room to set the breakfast table.  
He can worry about his demise when the time comes, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fact: sleep deprivation can be a cause for sleepwalking.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jarvis and Anthony have not even sorted out their growing feelings towards each other, and already they have a first domestic fight. And the servants are starting to gossip about the pair...

Jarvis sets aside the notebook with care; it was filled with long lines of careful tallies, every few pages a marker was set, indicating a different employee’s register. He usually preferred to hand over their earnings for the month himself, even if he could not personally verify their work. He relied on Sharon, Elias, and the cook for that.  
Nearly everyone has already been given their pay, which left just one person. Who appears to be running late. The small bag of coins for the former stray is sitting on his desk.  
For some reason Jarvis feels nervousness flicker. Anthony had refused to accept his first two paychecks, asking instead that they be used towards his debt. But this time Jarvis had insisted he receive something for all the work he had done. Between acting as an occasional secretary and fixing and maintaining the manor itself, Jarvis felt that it was time the boy get something in return.

Anthony deserved something. Even if it was but a bit of coin with which to enjoy some leisure in the nearby village.

But the Earl felt nervous for another reason. Of late he worried that perhaps he had been overstepping his boundaries with his employee. He had been constantly seeking his company, talking more, wanting to simply be around the other. 

The door finally creaks open, Anthony - as usual - foregoing knocking in favour of simply sticking his head into the room. “You called for me?”  
He taps over to the Earl’s desk, without further ado plopping down into the chair he usually sits in when he comes to pay the other visits with tea or tries to prove that he can really forge Jarvis’ handwriting now.  
(As of yet, he’s not managed to convince Lord Thompson, but it is only a matter of time.)

It is only after a moment that Anthony spots the suspicious bag sitting just in front of Jarvis, and frowns, directing the frown at his employer. “If that is what I think it is—”

"If you are referring to your pay, then yes. I agreed to set the entirety of your first two sets of earnings entirely towards your debt," and he had, for all the dent that they had made towards paying off the cost that he still found frankly embarrassing. "This," and he pushes the purse towards the boy. "Is your earnings for the month, after expenses for your debt have been subtracted."

Oh dear, the boy looked ready to pick a fight. But then again he always seemed to be fighting anything he considered even vaguely altruistic. He remembered how he had barely managed to convince Anthony that the room and board were included in his pay.  
Perhaps he should have simply asked Sharon to give the boy his pay and be done with it. She had a way with getting the boy to see sense.

"But you do pay me— with somewhere to sleep and food, don’t try to tell me that is completely free of charge for you, so really, I don’t need this, mil— Jarvis,” considering the circumstances it’s probably fair Anthony only remembers to not call the other by his title in the last second, and he stubbornly shuffles his chair backwards a bit, looking at the bag as if he expects it to jump up and bite him.

Jarvis sighs. He definitely should have left this to Sharon. “Room and board is automatically taken from everyone’s pay, even for Sharon and Elias,” if they choose to stay in the manor of course. “So in essence, I have already subtracted the expenses for feeding and housing you from your pay, as well as a portion towards your debt,” which left quite a small purse in his opinion.

"I don’t consider the expenses to be subtracted for as long as the debt exists. After all— you did employ me to pay it back, did you not?"  
Anthony meets the Earl’s gaze evenly, an unspoken challenge for the other to talk back on this matter. “That is the reason I’m here. It seems silly to allow me pocket money when I wouldn’t know what to spend it on anyways. All that I need I have.”

Not to mention Anthony fears one day Lord Thompson will gift himself poor, and then it’s right back onto the street for him, with food and shelter far from guaranteed.

"This is just—" Anthony could be stubborn, Jarvis knew this. "Consider this something to put aside in case of emergency. You can spend it on anything, save it until you feel you need it."

It was a worry that Jarvis harboured. That after his debt was paid the boy would immediately want to leave. And even with the skills and recommendations that would come from his time in Jarvis’s household, one never knew what might happen. He had nightmares of learning that the boy had died in some alley somewhere, alone and lost among the sea of people who called the London streets their home.

He didn’t want the boy ending back on the streets.

"This is yours, you have earned it. And honestly after the deductions it is far less than you actually deserve."

Anthony listens to the other’s words in silence, worrying his lower lip.  
"I appreciate the gesture, really, and I don’t want to appear ungrateful, but I’m certain what’s in this bag would scare me." Because what the Earl might consider pocket money might have Anthony fainting of shock.

"I would not have anywhere to store it. Money is, in my experience, not a safe thing to own." Nor is it of advantage to look like someone who has got money when on the street, but that is neither here nor there. "Besides, I feel if you continue being nice to me you might end up poor yourself, and then I’ll likely never be able to pay my debt."

The concern was touching, but Jarvis couldn’t help laughing at the mere idea. “Anthony, I won’t end up a pauper simply because I pay you a wage,” he is smiling. “The expenses to maintain all of my properties, including staffing for each, is under forty percent of my total income, on a bad day it can be a touch higher. I should mention that my estates includes four houses. Two of which I very rarely use.”

He still wondered why his mother had purchased the house in the Americas. But at least he was able to lease it out (Pepper’s idea).

Anthony loves when he can make the Earl laugh - but when he does so without meaning to, it’s a mixed sort of blessing, putting him somewhere between confused and glad that he’s still able to amuse the other.

The source of amusement becomes clear when Jarvis enlightens Anthony with numbers, and it lets Anthony visibly deflate. He can’t really argue with that.

"And if you are worried about my charity work, that is usually restricted to between fifteen and twenty percent of my income. That leaves quite a tidy sum to languish in my coffers," he and Pepper were careful about his investments.

Finally Jarvis breaks and reaches for the purse, pouring it out and picking out a few sovereigns, adding a few other random coins to the mix. The purse now contained half of what it had originally contained. He pushed the much lighter purse across the desk. “At least accept this, you may need something, and it would make me feel easier if you have a safety net at the least,” he smiles. “Smaller than my own I will admit, but still a start.”

“All I ever see is you _spending_ money,” Anthony mumbles in a weak attempt at defending his faux-pas, pouting a little at the small bag that still gets shoven in his direction.

That comment elicits another bout of laughter. “Oh believe me, there are plenty among my peers who spend more than they actually have,” none too few of which were always trying to marry their daughters off to him. “But I am most certain that Miss Potts would have my ear if I did not take some care with my finances.”

His smile turned rueful. “And I am afraid that were my debts to overwhelm me,” what little there was, he always made certain his credit was paid, “my fate would be to marry one of those many women that are always seeking my hand. I admit it’s not a fate I really want. Perhaps if it came to that I could hide behind you on the streets instead,” it actually made for a hilarious image.

The look Anthony sends the Earl neatly translates to _‘you are insane, honestly, sort out your priorities’_. “I do not think you could possibly prefer the streets to an arranged marriage. After all, one usually gets fed in those.”

Jarvis starts laughing again, not able to resist teasing the boy some more. “You would truly consign me to being the kept man of one of those society matrons that you have seen stroll through here so very often?” Oh dear, he almost sounded like he was giggling, but he could not seem to help it. The look on Anthony’s face is just too priceless.

"Yes - you would make a lucky lady’s kept poodle," Anthony snarks right back, a small smile tugging at his lips while the Earl laughs.

"Without the literal collar, one would hope," he drawls. "I suppose I would also have to play dress up and sit politely drinking tea," he lets out a delicate shudder, grinning despite himself. "Such is my lot."

He knew that even just two months ago he would never even have dared to make light of such a situation, especially to Anthony. It would have felt too irreverent and he would have feared of offending the other for acting as if wealth was such a burden to one who had never had it. It was a mark of how they had become, that Jarvis was willing to act so informally, as if there were no barriers between them at all.

What he leaves unsaid is that were he to lose his fortune things his lot would not be nearly so terrible as ending up a beggar on the streets. He might end up in disgrace, but he would still be a peer of the realm. Educated, marriageable, and he could possibly even run away to one of the colonies. “You are correct, I could simply just sell myself to Lord Friggason, I am certain he would positively crow at my misfortune.”

At the mention of Lord Friggason, Anthony pulls a face, silently agreeing to the assessment. Dear Loki would most certainly be absolutely insufferable in that situation— Anthony probably wouldn’t be able to sit by that quietly.

"Jarvis— you do know I always managed without anyone allowing me a safety net, right? What you do for me is as much charity as I can bear," he reaches out for the bag, lifting it up to measure it, simultaneously raising an eyebrow at the Earl, "sometimes even more than that."

"Simply because you have managed without does not mean that you _have to_. I want to know that if something happens that— that at least you will be well, for a little while,” because he could not bear to think of Anthony left to try to survive on the streets again.

"I— thank you," Anthony says, his tone of voice almost a sigh, because how can he say no to that? "But still, if it comes to that, try not to worry. It will only scratch at my self-confidence if you think me that helpless.” He delivers that last line in a lighter tone of voice, hoping that maybe a small joke like that will remove the worry on the Earl’s face.

He sobers and sets aside the teasing, smile gentling as he looks over at Anthony. “I consider you my friend. There will always be a part of me that worries, I even worry about Loki, though more about what damage he will wreck at the next sortie than anything else,” he sighs. “But nonetheless, I will keep in mind to only pay you a shilling a week.”

In response to this, Anthony’s expression gives way to a wide smile, simultaneously giving a slight head-shake. “Can I not convince you that I want all of my pay go towards my debt? Is it so fruitless an endeavour that I do not even have to try?”

Anthony doesn’t know what to do with actual money in his hands, even less when it’s supposedly to grow to be more and not end up less. What would he possibly have to save on? Saving on the possibility of bad times just seems depressing, and yet— nothing else springs to mind.

"Anthony," Jarvis’ voice is patient as he speaks. "What I just gave you was a very small fraction of your actual pay, I hope you realise. You are not only acting as the handy man, but also my secretary. I will admit, if you were only doing the former your pay would be significantly smaller, but you are also receiving secretarial wages for whatever hours you assist me personally," he smiles ruefully. "Keep that in mind when you believe I am being overly generous. I believe your aching fingers tell another story."

Anthony’s gaze drops to his fingers pretty much on its own accord at the comment, and he forms a light fist as if to hide the evidence of what Jarvis is talking about when he meets the blond’s gaze again.

"So you mean to tell me that I am just that good?" he asks aloud, a joking undertone in his voice. "I do wonder, what would you have done if I’d proven to be absolutely useless for any kind of work? You picked up a street rat. It’s a bit like playing the lottery, really, I could’ve been so incredibly clumsy I’d kept breaking things when trying to dust them or something."

"I believe I have mentioned this before, though if I have not then the mistake may be understandable, that I have offered to help others before you find work. I offered you that same option, I remember, to work at one of the many warehouses or shops where I have connections," and Anthony had chosen to come work for him. He realised now how glad he was for that.

Letting go of a small sigh, Anthony leans back in your chair.

"I think you’re being overly generous because even in that scenario you would have had pity on me. Probably offered to let the debt drop entirely in exchange for something ridiculous. Am I wrong?"

"I will admit, you were an exception to the rule when I offered you a place in my household so soon after meeting you," someday he would actually say that he caught him stealing, but this always gave him a thrill of amusement. "I went on instinct when I hired you. But," he sighs. "I’m not nearly that altruistic, Anthony.  
"Yes, I would have still helped you, most likely tossed you to Sharon and set you to work. I have learned that while there are many types of beggars, at the core most will fall into two categories. One who will take any advantage possible. They would happily bleed an idiot like myself dry," and some have tried, but the young lord was not quite as naive as he often seemed. "I have more experience with those types than you may know. And then there are those who have pride," now he fixes the former stray with a look.

"A person with the level of pride and stubbornness that I saw in you even that first night, they will not take charity," his lips quirk up in a smile as he says it. "Can you really tell me that if I had dropped your debt that you would have went quietly?"

"The way I remember it, you almost let me run. And if I wouldn’t have mistrusted the offer in the first place, I would have taken it - at the point I didn’t even know that I had destroyed something of such worth, after all. It would have looked to me like mercy, not charity."  
Anthony quirks a quick smile at the Earl, then lets it drop with a sigh. Jarvis thinks too highly of him in this.

"—I can’t say what I’d have done. But I was not used to earning anything. The idea of paying you back seemed outlandish. Stubborn I might be, but I can’t imagine I’d have thrown myself willingly into a life-long debt I would have had no hopes of ever paying back.”

The dark-haired young man waves around vaguely. “Clearly, I am not a saint. I could never compete with you in that aspect.”

"Yes, well," Jarvis begins, tone full of wry humour. "You were not only mistrustful but you also thought I wanted you to pay me back through sex. And yet here we are haggling over coin because you write up letters for me.”

"It was the logical conclusion!" Anthony protests, trying not to laugh.

"Alright, I will concede the point. I am far too kind for my own good. I would like to say in my defense that I am a very good reader of a person’s character,” he would have to be, else his own peers would have torn him apart long before now. “Whatever you may think of yourself, you have proven that my measure of you was true.”

"Well, somehow you made it this far anyways. Though I am tempted to thank Pepper for that." Anthony can’t help smiling at the compliment, but keeps quiet, letting the other finish.

"Pepper certainly has a fair hand in my continued existence," marginally at least. Jarvis stills carries a fair amount of the weight, but without the Lady Potts to see to the fine minutia of his investments they, or him, would be in a fine mess. There are simply not enough hours in the day for him to manage everything that he feels the need to.

"You know that everyone here used to keep a close eye on you. Still do at times, I have no doubt," but they liked him, and while there were times doubt crept in, Jarvis wanted to believe that everything the two shared was sincere.

The Earl sighs, rubbing his eyes. “There is still much of the debt to go, I’m afraid. I will respect your wishes and put most of your pay from now on towards paying it off,” would he leave after it was done? The blond found that he still harbored a certain fear about that. But did he really have the right to request the former stray stay?

"I appreciate that," the boy replies, showing no surprise at Jarvis warning him of how the debt remains big. Anthony knows the number is bigger than anything he could’ve ever imagined owning, and that finishing paying it off will take a lot he doesn’t really have - patience.

"You know my patience. I try not to count the pennies, no doubt that would drive me insane. It’s preferable to me to leave the counting to you. Is that not a show of trust, what do you think?"

"Your trust is appreciated," Jarvis says dryly. "I suppose you should be thanking the saints that I’m so nice. Else you will not have to worry that I would extend it into indenture," because really, Anthony was skilled. He knew that even in the few months he had worked for him Sharon had loudly boasted of their new maintenance worker’s skill. Anthony would not lack for employment if— when he left.

Shifting a little in his chair, Anthony throws the other a questioning look. “Did you call me for anything else but to discuss this bag with me, Jarvis?”

Jarvis sighs and straightens. “No, that will quite be all for now. You may go complete your other tasks if you wish.”

Anthony smiles, sloppily salutes and takes his leave. Sharon wants him to oil a few creaky cupboards still and she definitely won’t be happy with him if he doesn’t get to that as quickly as possible. The notion is proven correct when he meets her, foot tapping impatiently to the floor, her arms crossed before her chest - but she sends him a small smile, too.

"Maybe I have to have a word with the Earl about how he monopolises your time."

Chuckling, Anthony shakes his head. “Personally, you are worse than he is.”

The only reply he gets is a huff, and then the young man is back to work, only interrupted by Sharon talking at his back. “You know, I feel it is silly to keep to your own room when it’s so clear the both of you would prefer sharing a bed.”

Anthony almost lets the screwdriver drop, turning to Sharon wide-eyed.

"Wha—"

"It’s quite surprising, you know, to my knowledge the Earl always rejected to share his bed with anyone. But I’m convinced it’s good for him that he’s letting you this close, and you’re both being so careful about it - what is it?"

She has apparently only now noticed that Anthony is staring at her in stunned silence.

"I just— is it that much of a deal?" he asks weakly, shuffling his feet a little. Apparently it was Sharon that caught them sleeping in one bed - in that case, it’s probable the whole mansion was informed. The thought lets Anthony’s cheeks heat up.

"Oh, Anthony, there’s no need to be embarrassed, rest assured in this household nobody will bother the Earl about who he decides to share his bed with, even if it’s a man."

_Oh dear Lord._

Anthony puts a hand to his forehead, almost poking himself in the eye with the screwdriver. “I think you misunderstand…”

He probably has to talk to the Earl about this. Can’t allow such a misunderstanding to exist for the whole household to believe in, right?

\---

When Anthony left Jarvis turned back to his work, only looking up when Elias came in. “You were quite correct,” he said in way of greeting. “I should have let Sharon handle it.”

Elias only smirked in return. “I told you he would not accept the pay. Especially in light of your relationship,” a curious way to phrase the debt and Anthony’s position in the household, but Jarvis decided to not question it. “Which reminds me, milord. Do the two of you want to have Anthony’s belongings moved?”

"Pardon?" What say did he have over where Anthony’s possessions were placed. Besides the fact that he owned the manor. "Is there something wrong with his current rooms?"

The knowing look that his valet was giving him was confusing. “Sir, it is alright, not a single member of this household would ever betray your trust. We understand why you two wish be discreet, but surely there is no need for the boy to constantly run back to his room in the morning.”

What the devil was Elias talking about? “I beg your pardon?” he repeats.

Elias only smiles and offers a small bow. “Is there anything else I may do for you, sir?”

"I—" _yes you can stop being so bloody mysterious and answer my question._ "Ah, I only need these sent out, thank you."

Elias left, leaving the young lord in a mire of confusion.

He tried to lose himself in work again, that is, until he was interrupted yet again, the door opening to admit Anthony. Normally he would welcome the boy's presence, but at the moment it only compounded his confusion more.

"Ah, Anthony. How may I help you?"

"This will sound strange," Anthony warns the other, dropping down into the chair opposite from the Earl, fiddling with his shirt, "but apparently there’s been a major misunderstanding between us and the household."

Waving around vaguely, Anthony searches for words - for a way to say this - and can’t find one, so he slouches in the chair, mumbling his next words.

"It’s, uh, you probably won’t like it."

At those words the pieces started to fall in place. Jarvis resisted the urge to just groan and hide his head in his hands. “Sharon,” it was all that needed to be said.  
Sighing he straightened. “I think I should apologise,” he should have woken the boy up, rather than subject him to this sort of scrutiny. But at the least the household has proven loyal to him.

"Sharon indeed," Anthony repeats, a small smile playing on his lips despite himself at the Earl’s reaction, and proceeds to completely ignore the beginnings of the other’s apology. "I was a little worried you might be angry about it, since you were very clear you would never do such a thing with me." The way Anthony remembers it, the Earl added never to his question on that first morning.

"—but it seems I worried for nothing." Which is a relief. Jarvis’ anger would certainly have been unpleasant.

"I hope you do realise that I had made that statement so that you knew that I had no intention of forcing you to pay back the debt with your body. I’m not really one for forced prostitution," he could be more blunt but that should be description enough.

"I know," Anthony agrees easily enough, rolling his shoulder in a one-sided shrug. Because he _does_ know but that doesn’t change that the way Jarvis had rejected the question had been on the harsh side of things, and for Anthony it is no stretch to imagine that it might just extend to him in general.

"I was just asked if you wished to move your belongings into my room," now that Jarvis understood what Elias had been talking about he felt… nothing had been answered.

"Oh, well. The question is justified, after all, my room would certainly feel rather cramped to you, I think.”

"To be completely honest I am more worried for how uncomfortable such rumors would make you," the Earl lets out a tired chuckled. "I do not believe that those quarters were designed for two people to share. There is also the issue of me having a great many more items than you do."

"Perish the thought - you probably wouldn’t see the floor anymore from all the clutter," Anthony mock-gasps at the picture Jarvis is painting, and then waves the other off. "Well, it is not my household, and I don’t see how it should be uncomfortable for me— it would make me the profiteer, I believe. Being some rich person’s kept bed warmer is something I know for a fact many a young woman on the streets would be jealous over.”

Jarvis was not entirely fooled. Sure there was a touch of lingering doubt in his mind but he still couldn’t help but lift a skeptical brow at the boy’s words. “I see,” his tone implied the exact opposite. “You would have preferred that I force you into a contract of indentured servitude, as would have been my right under law,” nevermind that he was a strong proponent for abolition. "Oh, yes. It definitely would have been better for the both of us if I had chosen slavery," he says dryly. "So glad I have that little piece of advice for the next time I find a stray raiding my kitchens," his words are punctuated with an eye roll.

"I’m not talking slavery," Anthony protests faintly, a small smile on his lips. "Namely because you’re much too nice for slavery. Which is good, but you know, looking at you in that light you’re not terribly intimidating. I’m sure if I were your slave you’d have a horribly bad conscience and pamper me like a King.”

Anthony’s expression shifts then, tilting his head at the other. “I’m not wrong, am I? You don’t own any slaves from what I saw—”

"No, I own no slaves. Even my employees on my estate in the old colonies are paid quite handsomely," nevermind that it was very likely that he would never visit said estate. "I have actually made the occasional waves by speaking out for abolition. Not that speaking out really does all that much good."

Finally Jarvis rolls his eyes. “I do not believe that I even want to indulge thoughts about how I might treat a slave. But I concede I just might do that, though we shall never know as I freed all of the slaves my parents owned when I took the title. Angered a fair amount of people on both sides of the Atlantic,” he smirks. Loki had laughed for what seemed like hours after that incident.

"Anyways I’m sure if I was a slave I’d be treated shockingly well, but since I am not, you do not need to worry about it.” Anthony quirks a smile at the Earl, pushing his chair back and straightening into a standing position.

Honestly, how else could you respond to that statement with anything but a laugh. “There are times when I legitimately cannot think of what to say to you,” he grins up at the boy. “I am afraid I have no response that comment, Anthony.”

Anthony just nods, taking that as a small victory. "Do you want me to serve you some tea, Jarvis?"

His smile gentles and he nods his head. “Tea would be quite lovely, Anthony. Thank you.”

Anthony could try to hold back some of the cheekiness, but why should he, now that Jarvis has grown to be so comfortable around him (and the other way around, though he ignores the warmth he occasionally feels when Jarvis laughs or smiles at him like that)? He winks, and bows in what he somehow manages to make a mocking gesture. “I live to keep your life exciting, milord,” he drawls, adding the title for comedic effect, but lets the role drop just as quickly.  
"Alright. I shall be right back, Jarvis."

"Lucky me," Jarvis retorts as Anthony walks away, a smile still lingering on his lips. The easy way they had with each other was refreshing, he still marveled at the unlikely friendship he had forged. And sometimes he could even forget that the only reason the former stray was still here was because of the debt tethering him to this manor.

The Earl sighs and rubs his face, leaning back into his chair. He was determined to simply remain content for the moment, pushing all thoughts about obligations from his mind.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In between the last chapter and this one, the Earl Friggason had visited again. Loki not only had a chat with Jarvis, but also talked to Anthony, and Anthony's behaviour started to change. What has the other noble told him? And how will Jarvis tackle the situation?
> 
> We meet our heroes back in London, at the original scene of crime.

_Tap tap tap._ It was currently the only sound that could be heard in the study, apart from the sound of a bustling city far in the background, able to be heard even in the part of London that was relatively still. They had returned to the townhouse only a bare week before, a couple days after yet another surprise visit from the Earl Friggason who had deigned to stop by in order to lecture Jarvis about taking better care of his health.

The earl rolled his eyes at the memory. It was always amusing how much Loki refused to admit that he cared. Jarvis supposed he was lucky to have the other noble as a friend.  
But that would not have left Jarvis brooding in his study. No, recent— actions on the part of another had left him mired in worry.

He had barely seen Anthony since they had arrived back in the city. And this had been preceded by a… well Jarvis could only describe it as retreating in the days leading up to their departure. And it worried him.

The staff he maintained at the Townhouse were different, it had seemed unfair to him to request that those who have family move twice a year. So while some of them did move between residences with him, there were others who were essentially hired seasonally.

He had hoped Anthony would not be one of those. But he was coming to fear that the city was not good for the former stray, if his behavior was any indication. The boy had even requested that they no longer dine together, or at least that was what Sharon had told him.

Jarvis closed his eyes tightly. If he had to make the offer then he would. As much as he was loath to lose Anthony’s presence in his life, even if it were only for the winter, he wanted Anthony to be happy more. He forces himself to move with a sigh. He would have to talk to the boy, as simple as that.

\--

Anthony tries to rationalise his thoughts - staying away from Jarvis in order to save the Earl’s reputation now that they’re back in the city won’t be easy, but neither will it be terribly _hard_.

After all, Jarvis is not the pestering sort. Usually Anthony does the pestering. “Why am I still thinking about this?” he demands of the ceiling, growing frustrated with his brains going in circles, “clearly it’s the right thing to do, bloody hell.”

And that’s just the problem: on an intellectual level, Anthony can appreciate that it’s the right thing, he can explain it away with no further trouble, but— it doesn’t _feel_ right. Anthony does not want to keep his distance, no, quite the contrary. He wants to be with Jarvis, and preferably all the time.

"Oh lord, what is _wrong_ with me?!”

The request is delivered from a valet Anthony’s not really familiar with, but then anyone but Elias and Sharon currently fulfills that criteria in this house right now, because for some reason Anthony has kept quiet that week, Sharon keeping busy with housework and whipping the rest of the staff "back into shape" as she declared ( _scary_ ), and nobody else really knows him well enough to call him out on the strangeness of it all, anyways—  
nobody but Jarvis Thompson, Earl of Aitherton, himself, that is.

And so the request that Anthony go to his study doesn’t exactly come as a surprise. No, Anthony has both been looking forward and simultaneously dreading that moment, but gives the valet a nod, not bothering to try and fake a smile right now.

He’s feeling slightly sick to the stomach, actually. Maybe he can claim illness and just burrow in his bed for the winter, go hibernate, but Anthony recognises that as one of the crazy ideas he develops to get out of a situation he doesn’t know how to deal with, so the thought grinds to a halt.

Everything in Anthony grinds to a halt, actually, when he reaches that study door. (The one he’s been walking past the last week and it _hurt_ and Anthony still doesn’t understand but he misses Jarvis, misses him and still can’t allow himself to just act like he did before. It’s for the best, it’s the _right thing to do._ )

Anthony’s fingernails dig hard in his palms, and then he reaches up to knock at the door. It might just be the first time that he’s bothered knocking, but he can’t stand waiting around, so he pushes the door open without waiting for a response, entering the room quietly, and closing the door again behind him.

The Earl was attempting to focus on paperwork, awaiting Anthony’s arrival, when the knock came, and he had an instant of resignation. His nerves were already heightened as it was, and he did not know why he should feel so nervous about talking to his— the boy. Strangely, when the door opened without his bidding to admit the one who was most occupying his thoughts he found himself momentarily without words.

It hurt to see how uncertain Anthony looked, where before there would have been a smile. Quickly averting his eyes, Jarvis gathered the papers before him together, setting them aside with deliberate care. Don’t focus on how much it hurt to see how reserved his friend had become.

And to top it off now that Anthony was actually in the room with him, he found that he did not know what to say.

"Anthony, how lovely to see you. I— umm, have a seat, please?"

"Jarvis," Anthony greets, the name easy on his tongue, and smiles a small smile at the Earl having swallowed his tongue, making it over to the chair opposite and sinking into it.

"I do think I know why you let me be called," the boy says, putting his words in order carefully, but meeting Jarvis’ eyes straight on. He just wishes his heart would stop beating so hard against his rib cage, absently bringing a hand up to rub against the spot just over his heartbeat before he realises what he’s doing, and when he does, letting his hand drop quickly again.

"And I’m sorry about it," and he really is, and not only because of the worry lines it probably put on Jarvis’ face, but because Anthony himself feels he’s sacrificing something in this, “but I think I’ve good reasons. Lord Friggason has talked to me, on that last visit, about how— I will affect your reputation in the city, where people _see_. Not to mention gossip.”

Well that was… he wasn’t sure how to react to that. It was… almost stupidly obvious wasn’t it? After all, when had he ever been able to keep a friend for more than a few months before they became… embarrassed at his rank. He should have known that their friendship had a deadline even closer than the debt.

"Did he now?" he forces himself to speak in a lazy drawl. Anything to cover the tightness in his throat.

"Did you ever think that it might not affect my reputation? Or perhaps that I would not care what they would choose to whisper about me behind my back? They do it enough as it is,” the constant rumours and whispers. They had dogged him all his life.

"That’s just it," Anthony says, trying not to let it show that seeing the Earl putting up a wall like this had him wincing, flinching back like at a physical blow, because _damn it all to hell, Jarvis, don’t you see I’m doing this for you?_ “You don’t care about your reputation, but a reputation is a powerful thing, and I— I have to do what’s best for you, don’t I?”

Swallowing, Anthony tries to gulp down the urge to justify himself further, because he does not have to excuse himself for this, he doesn’t, but the words keep tumbling out anyways. “I have no status at all and yet you treat me as an equal, which cannot possibly go over well in public, and I’m not talking the ‘oh well, I can ignore that’-kind of consequences,” he’s not sure when he’s gotten up but he is suddenly standing, facing Jarvis with frustration clear on his face, almost pleading for Jarvis to understand, “don’t you see? I could ruin you.”

And, God help him, but Anthony could never live with that. Not Jarvis, not the one person in his life that showered him with kindness not out of a sense of obligation, but because he wanted to, not the one person that Anthony is trying to protect from the world so badly he’ll take the fall for him.

Jarvis had gotten important to him, somewhere along the way.

(He wants to apologise in the same breath, wants to hug Jarvis and pretend that he is not sobbing in the other’s collar, the small voice suggesting such things had been gradually getting louder, but Anthony can’t listen to it. Can’t face what it means, not just yet, when he knows he has to work around this somehow for as long as he works for the Earl, can’t possibly let it show, not when Jarvis is a highly-sought after noble and the matter of him finding the matching bride is but a question of time and maybe necessity. Anthony can’t. He _mustn’t._ )

Jarvis bites back a sigh. It would be cruel of him to simply disregard Anthony’s fears with a roll of his eyes. It is on the tip of his tongue to list off all of the scandals currently occupying the echelons of society that he had been born into. A list of tales about mistresses, engagements, dalliances, spats, and duels. There were so many little things he could list that would make a friendship with a servant pale in comparison.

"Anthony," he starts and then grasps for words yet again. "I don’t—" another hesitation. "I don’t want to lose your friendship," he finally manages to force the words out. "If— if you are so worried about— impropriety we can— we can stop… acting so familiar. You do not have to dine with me anymore," he would eat alone. "Outside this house I would be nothing but formal," it should have been obvious to him that they would not have the luxury of riding together so casually. This was a land of clear boundaries, class defined you here.

"I just—" he really needed to stop stuttering like this. "Could we at least remain friends in the privacy of this room?" Keep the informality at least within these walls. Now that he was faced with the prospect, he found that he dreaded even the thought of returning to his previous loneliness.

Anthony nods, wondering why he feels like he’s hurting from this.

He blames the feeling on opening his mouth, saying the words he told himself he wouldn’t: “Maybe we can— eat together once a week?”

Hope blossoms. Anthony is willing to stay his friend. Even though it means they will now have to restrict how often they are together, keep how close they have become secret, Jarvis finds he is willing to make those concessions. Anything to not lose his stray.

A tentative smile crosses his lips as he nods. “Once a week,” he agrees. “I can make certain that it is on a day when there will be absolutely no chance of visitors,” and since Loki was the one to inspire this sudden reticence on Anthony’s part, he would have to put his foot down on how often the other earl was allowed into his home unchaperoned.

Anthony himself has had enough of hiding, he wants the easy-going, comfortable presence of the other around him more again, as well. It’s insane how much he can miss someone - positively ache for them - that is in the same house, but a few rooms apart from him. ”And of course in this room you will be Jarvis. In the last few days, there wasn’t much secretary work for me to do, but I’ll be in here when there is.”

The urge to just go and climb into Jarvis’ lap is there, but Anthony holds it down, pushes it back in his mind. Right now, he can’t complicate things like that for the both of them. It will only make things harder, and how is he going to explain that to Jarvis?

"I believe you will find," Jarvis says, oblivious to Anthony's inner struggle. "That there will be much more work for you in your capacity as a secretary in the coming weeks," after all, this was the high season for balls and soirees, debutantes coming out in society, looking to secure promise of marriage before the season is out.

It was a busy time, and a draining one. He did not want to lose one of the few joys he had discovered in the last months.

To Anthony, it’s the strangest thing to realise that he is looking forward to the relatively dull secretary work, smiling more openly now. “Sounds reasonable— thank you for humouring me,” he comments the once-a-week arrangement, vaguely aware that he sounds too grateful for such a simple thing, but not caring enough to listen to his paranoid mind reminding him that you’re being too obvious, Anthony, the Earl will get suspicious at one point, he’s not a stupid man—  
and of course Jarvis is not stupid. Anthony would hardly fall in lo- befriend someone the way he did the Earl if he deemed the other stupid, but for now, Jarvis is oblivious, and not really looking for the signs he could be looking for, so Anthony dares saying it anyways: “I find I’m looking forward to wrestle paper with you, Jarvis.”

"That is certainly good to hear," there is a quiet sort of humor in the Earl's voice as he speaks. "There will be a great deal of it in the days to come. Unfortunately this is the season when those of my ilk tend to socialise the most. And Lady Potts should be stopping by tomorrow to add the already large pile," whenever he was in London she took the opportunity to bombard him with investment proposals and account information.

"If it starts bothering you too much, I can start discreetly disposing of letters, making it so they never reach you." There it is, that obviously practiced innocent look. It would probably fool someone that wasn’t familiar with Anthony, but hardly someone that knew him as well as the Earl. "The post is not without fault, after all."

Jarvis laughs at that. “Oh yes, the post can be so very unreliable. Though I would come to pity the poor delivery boy who was faced with the wrath of some of my would-be correspondents,” never mind that when they were in London the wealthy preferred to send their servants over with any letters they wanted delivered.

Something in his chest eased at the confirmation that his stray would still be at his side, even if it would be for work rather than simple pleasure. The young lord already knew that he would miss Anthony’s quirky presence outside the walls of the Study, and he couldn’t help but feel a touch of sadness at the prospect.

"I consider this more you humoring me," he says with a rueful smile. "I really don’t like dining alone, and your company has made them infinitely more bearable this summer."

Anthony stands up, pauses and smiles in a way that suggests he isn’t sure of himself when he does, absently worrying his lower lip before he speaks up.

"How long do you think— how long until the debt is cleared from this point onwards?"

_How long do I play this charade?_

The question couched to him shatters Jarvis' good mood like ice. The truth is that Jarvis knows exactly how much the boy still owed. And it was so much. The truth is, this debt is like a weight around the young lord’s neck. There was always the knowledge that Anthony is only here, is only here to be his friend, because of that debt. Without it… Anthony could leave. Could he really justify stretching out a debt he didn’t really care about having paid back just to keep his friend tethered to this place? To him?

_It is pure selfishness._

He comes to a decision in that moment. “Depending on the amount of secretarial work you do for me… I would calculate approximately four more months. Perhaps three I stop forcing you to take that small amount that you do.”

"Ah," Anthony replies, pure relief flooding his expression, and this time when he smiles, it is wide and unguarded. "That is good. Less than I expected to hear." He is not going to question it, much too glad by the news to put his finger on why exactly he expected it to be longer.

Anthony is not stupid, by any means, but he subconsciously decides to close his eyes in the face of whatever it was that bugged him - or should bug him - about those four months only being so few.

Because four months of being the Earl’s friend, nothing more and nothing less, four months of acting and pretending that nothing is amiss— that sounds entirely do-able, right?

He wanted away so badly, and Jarvis felt a touch of guilt that he had forced the boy to work for him for so long already. Perhaps the boy’s strange behaviour was due to this debt, the knowledge that it was looming so large over his head. Maybe that was why Anthony was pulling away, not because he was worried for the noble’s reputation but because he was sick of the obligation he owed the man.

(Nevermind that Anthony could have just run away if he really wanted. After all, he would have known by now that Jarvis would not pursue him. Jarvis was not in the frame of mind to give much mind to that little detail.)

His smile this time is a touch sad. “So, shall we set to work?”

\----

The Annual Ball in Lord Thompson’s London residence is in full swing when Anthony decides the music won’t let him sleep (jealously thinking of all the Ladies asking Jarvis for dances is not helping much, either), and he haphazardly dresses himself again before walking to Jarvis’ study.

He doesn’t expect to run into anyone, seeing how the whole household is busy with the ball in one way or another, and so he slips into the empty study completely unnoticed, seating himself into Jarvis’ chair (Jarvis isn’t here and this is the most comfortable chair in possibly the whole mansion, which makes sense seeing as the Earl spends most of the time in it, and doesn’t that already speak volumes?) and starting to sort letters.

Might as well make himself useful while he’s awake, right?

\--

Jarvis had always found balls to be tedious. Having to be the host of one was even worse. At least when he was a guest at someone else’s function he could fade into the background, stay to the side and socialise with those people he could actually tolerate. But being a host mean that there were expectations on him. One of them being constantly visible and spending a portion of the evening with each of his guests.

It was draining.

There were times when he wished that he were able to go back in time and beg his grandmother to not start this silly tradition. Or find a way to convince his mother to not insist on continuing the dratted thing, leaving him to face society’s expectations.

Thankfully there were always those moments, when the party was in full swing and everyone’s attention was elsewhere, when no one would notice a person slipping away. Even if that person was the host.

Jarvis sighs as he closes the door of his study behind him. Leaning back against the strong wood, closing his eyes, and savoring the quiet. His relief is so great that he nearly misses the sound of paper shuffling.

When the door clicks, Anthony flinches - he is sitting in his employer’s chair with no good excuse as to why, really, and if this is a guest that has gotten lost on the premise, or maybe worse, Sharon who somehow sensed that he is not in bed sleeping the way she considers he ought to, he might be in for a world of trouble - but when it’s a familiar blond head that he spots, he reminds himself to breathe, shoulders relaxing, face lighting up at Jarvis.

Anthony has no mirror at the ready to know what he looks like, but when he grows aware of the smile on his face being too wide he tries to beat it into something more tempered instead, hopefully succeeding by the time Jarvis glances at him.

For a moment Jarvis almost dreads opening his eyes. Several scenarios run through his head: a stranger riffling through his finances (it had happened before), an employee wishing to skim from his coffers (the last time had led to his loss of a secretary), or it could be Elias attempting to organise (but he knew that the valet was down at the ball). When he opens his eyes, it’s to a sight he had not expected but is most welcome.

"Anthony," he knows his smile is a touch too wide, relief clear in his face as he finds himself relaxing almost instantly.

This was much better than being alone.

"Have you already danced with all the ladies and are looking for more exotic options, now?" The tone of voice Anthony uses to ask is joking and lightly teasing at the same time, and he thinks he’s doing a good enough job of keeping the jealousy in him (that has, admittedly, bubbled down the moment Jarvis stepped into the room) out of his voice entirely.

An eyebrow raises and Jarvis tries to bring his smile back under control. “Thankfully as host there is a loophole I am allowed to exploit. If I were to dance with anyone, I would be forced to dance with all of my guests, so as not to appear rude. So as that would be simply exhausting considering the many people I was forced to invite, I am given the luxury of not having to dance with anyone,” one of the very few advantages to hosting the event himself.

Anthony’s expression turns vaguely puzzled. “And here I thought all you did at a ball was dance. What where you doing in the ballroom then? Standing around dazzling them with your looks?”

In his defense, he doesn’t mention that the Earl is pretty or anything like it, but it’s a close call.

Jarvis laughs. “Dancing makes up only part of such an event,” he finds himself grinning, weariness seeming to simply lift from his shoulders. “Most people down there are attending to monitor everyone else, make or strengthen connections. There is a lot of talking and socialising involved,” it should not go unnoticed that he says the two words with an edge of weary distaste. But tonight, so close to the beginning of the season, the young debutantes (and their mothers) seemed to be out in force. And even he as the host had not been safe from the looks and smiles.

"I believe I have done enough ‘standing around’ tonight to last a lifetime," sadly he would get only a small reprieve before he was obligated to attend yet another social function.

"Sounds tedious," Anthony offers.

"Exceedingly so," he answers, not bothering to open his eyes as he relaxes back in the chair. It was not nearly as comfortable as his own, but at least it removed the temptation of glancing at the paperwork that still lay on his desk. Tonight was not a night to work, at least not that type of work. "Not that I am complaining, but may I ask why you are in here?" Although he did not mind, was glad even. He did not even make mention that the boy was sitting in his seat.

"I had trouble getting to sleep," Anthony says, throwing the Earl a look, "and then I thought, might as well take your favourite excuse for not sleeping away. So I’m pushing letters around.”

Jarvis offers his stray a tired smile. “And here you are always admonishing me about working too much.”

The Earl is obviously not even trying to hide how tired he is of high society as a whole, and when he leans back in his chair to offer Anthony an excellent view of his neck, the stray finds himself swallowing and jealously thinking that at least nobody else had gotten to touch the Earl tonight either.

"My point exactly. If I work more, you are forced to work less,” Anthony replies evenly, unable not to respond to the smile in kind, momentarily grateful for the Earl’s utter blindness to his affection - he is really not being all that subtle about it, even if he tries.

He sighs. “So am I to understand that this is some form of conspiracy on your part to convince me to not seclude myself in paperwork as much I do?” Though he would not mind secluding himself in the study, just so long as he could keep his stray for company.

No, he could not allow himself to entertain such thoughts. In the darkness behind closed eyes he could almost dream, but even those brought a wave of guilt. Because even if he did not voice such thoughts and ideas, these feelings, Anthony was still bound by contract until a debt was paid. Anthony could never be his, not so long as the debt lay between them.

"I don’t think I alone can form a conspiracy,” Anthony replies, and his expression grows thoughtful. “Well— I suppose it would be a conspiracy if I got Sharon and Elias on my side, which I think is entirely possible, and then we can proceed to set the plan ‘Lord Thompson Needs Sleep Too’ into motion. If needed I’m sure I could convince Sharon to lock you in your bedroom.”

At the end of that little speech, the teasing smirk Anthony sends the Earl has reached worrying proportions. “Maybe a conspiracy is just what you need, don’t you think so, Jarvis? You brought it up after all.”

In answer Jarvis covers his face with his hands and lets out a theatrical groan. “You three actually actively joining forces against me sounds terrifying,” they would be a force to be reckoned with.

"In my defense, the difficulty sleeping is entirely not my fault," he tried, he really had. In the early days, before Anthony had joined his household. "Ugh, no. I will try to behave myself. I swear. Do not decide to form a posse and gang up on me," by now the words were spoken between bouts of laughter.

Anthony tries to hide his laughter behind his hand with limited success, grinning widely now.

"Well I suppose if you promise I can let it slide for now,” he drawls, his voice teasing again - he can’t exactly stop it. “But I’ll keep in mind that the possibility of mutiny is a weak spot of yours, milord.”

It just seems hilarious to him, that he can actively threaten the Earl with something like that.

"Do you have to go back to the ball at one point?"

In response Jarvis heaves a sigh. “Unfortunately, you are correct,” this time the groan he lets out is heartfelt and real. “Are you certain you cannot do me a favor and just hit me over the head with a poker? It could serve the dual purpose of giving the lot of them a drawing room mystery and giving me an excuse to miss the rest of the evening.”

"Hmm," Anthony hums, chin in his hand, as if seriously considering the offer. “I don’t think I can do that, Jarvis. Really, I’d be more inclined to tie you to your bed and then leave you there.”

_No brain, no thinking of what you could do with a tied up Earl. Stop it._

For just the briefest moment Jarvis’ brain entertains the image, which leads to too many ideas that he _really should not think about, no._ “The problem with that method is there would too many questions of the wrong sort if my excuse for missing my own ball was because I was ‘tied to my own bed’,” he tries not to laugh at the terrible stories that Loki would inevitably spread if such a rumour circulated.

Despite his words he finds himself reluctantly drawing to his feet, the weariness of obligation and mental exhaustion settling back over his shoulders like a heavy cloak. But in the next instant he is nearly every inch the aristocrat again, composed and aloof. The effect is ruined for a brief moment as he tosses a smile his stray’s way. “It was a welcome surprise to find you here. It truly helped.”

"Helped? How did it help?" Raising a questioning eyebrow, Anthony leans back in the chair. "I really won’t smash something over your head no matter how you compliment me.”

"Just talking to you relaxes me," Jarvis says, though it should have been evident. He grins. "Because now I feel like I might actually be able to survive the rest of this evening without outright fainting.”

"Don’t be silly," Anthony replies, and has to fight down the chuckle at the absurdity of him saying this to Jarvis, “if dealing with my antics didn’t kill you nor make you develop grey hair, a bunch of nobles don’t stand a chance.”

He shuffles the letters around, putting them to the side (and if, perhaps, he has let the one or the other letter asking for money disappear in the bin, well, Jarvis needn’t know), before straightening into a standing position himself.

"Oh, but you underestimate how positively vicious those people down there can be,” his words are belied by another smile as he watches Anthony shuffle the letters, wondering how many made their way into the trash bin. Not that he really minded that his stray would toss some of his correspondence, because he was able to do what Jarvis himself never really had the heart to. He always felt the need to at least answer everything that went across his desk, even if it was a rejection.

"I think I’ll go to bed— I feel this time I’ll have an easier time of going to sleep." And this isn’t because Jarvis took away all reasons to feel jealous of any of the ladies at the ball. At least it’s not _just_ because of that.

At the boy’s proclamation Jarvis made his own way towards the door. “Have a good night, Anthony,” he says, rolling his shoulders in preparation of returning to the party. “And wish me luck, I am certain I will need it.”

"I believe in you," Anthony replies, dryly, following the Earl out of the room, "in fact, I’ve got enough confidence in you that I’m sure luck won’t be necessary." A corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk, and Anthony reaches up to pat the other’s shoulder before he steps back again, inclining his head in a small bow.

"Good night."

If Jarvis' shoulder tingles a bit where Anthony touches him for the rest of the evening, well, nobody need to know.


	15. Chapter 15

Elias had come down with a fever. Thankfully it was nothing terribly serious, so long as he kept warm and did not try to exert himself. Sharon was determined to see to that. And really, Jarvis did not mind the temporary loss of his valet. With Anthony’s help his workload was manageable, and he was even able to dress himself before Sharon was able to send up one of her many minions to assist him. Jarvis actually felt that was an accomplishment worthy of note.

He was even optimistic that he could be suitably sneaky to have a bath delivered to his room without alerting her. Unfortunately that was easier said than done as nearly the entirety of his household staff seemed of the opinion that they had to get permission before doing anything so simple as heating water for a bath.

Hopefully he had managed to convince the servants delivering the water that he already had someone to assist him, and _no he does not need Sharon to send a replacement for Elias, thank you very much._

It's just much more difficult than you'd think to do much of anything in this house without Sharon somehow knowing about it.

\--

"Why me?" Anthony asks, frowning at Sharon, wrench in his hand, which he uses to gesture vaguely at what’s behind him, "I’m working and I’m sure there’s someone in this place that has nothing to do, so—”

"Anthony," Sharon interrupts, with her disapproving tone of voice which definitely manages to shut him up.

_Every time._

"You’re his favourite, boy. I doubt he’d want anyone but either you or Elias in there, so hop along," Anthony is already opening his mouth when she raises a warning finger at him, "and I don’t want to hear you complaining, young man."

Snapping his mouth shut, Anthony watches her leave confusedly. She sometimes talks to him as if he was her son, and it’s - Anthony will never admit how much he likes that, or how he takes comfort in it.

He puts his wrench down and breathes deeply. Oh, well. If all it takes for Sharon to be happy is Anthony making a complete fool of himself, then so be it.

"Afternoon," he greets the Earl when he enters the bathing room, pulling the door closed behind himself, "you want a back rub again, Jarvis?"

Really, Jarvis should have known that Sharon would insist on sending someone to attend him. As it is when Anthony speaks up he startles so badly that he drops the shirt he had just taken off.

"Ah," he smiles sheepishly and fumbles to pick the article of clothing back up. "So they told her after all," a lame response but to be quite honest he felt like a child caught out at something they were not supposed to be. Which was ridiculous, honestly. Anthony watches with a sort of bemused smile - responding to Jarvis’ expression in kind without consciously deciding to do so - silently wondering whether the Earl doesn't want him to be there.

Jarvis, on the other hand, finds himself fighting a blush even though he has no idea why the suggestion of a back rub should have elicited such a response.

"Uh, you—" and he is brought in mind again of all the inappropriate thoughts he had had of his stray of late. Things that he had no right to even think about. “That— that would not be necessary,” he summons a smile again. “You really need to stop pampering me, I might actually get in my head that I deserve the treatment.”

"Hm?" Anthony asks, blinks, and then catches up on what the other said, frowning. "Pampering you? Got it all wrong again, Jarvis. You know what kind of people are undeserving of back rubs?"

He waits a moment purely for effect, not waiting for a response as he answers the question himself right away: “That’s right, it’s horrible people. Now if you consider yourself horrible people I dare say you are delusional, with all due respect, milord, and really how often do I need to lecture you on learning how to relax?”

While he rants and jokes, Anthony crosses the room, getting towels and the bathrobe and settling them more-or-less neatly on a chair, raising an eyebrow at Jarvis, having to stop himself from exploring the Earl’s nude chest with his gaze, managing so purely due to willpower. “Are you waiting for the water to get cold, Jarvis?”

It’s an effort to fight down the blush, again, and Jarvis can’t think of a response, choosing to say nothing for the moment. He is hit with a sudden bout of shyness and he fumbles as he divests himself of the rest of this clothing. Hopefully he could blame the water for the blush that he had lost the battle against.

Jarvis is flustered. Enough so that he has difficulty relaxing into the warmth of the water like he normally would.

To dispel his own tension, the Earl tries for lighthearted. “Ah, but I’m spoiled enough as is. My clothes laid out for me, lavish meals cooked, a host of people whose only job is to make me feel comfortable,” though he manages to get the words out he keeps his eyes trained on the water before him.

Suddenly Anthony is right there, tilting his head sideways at Jarvis’ mostly hidden face. “Sharon thought you wouldn’t mind me being here, you see,” he begins, fixating the Earl’s blond hair, “but if she was wrong about that, you can just say so.”

The corners of Jarvis' lips turn up. “Sharon was not wrong,” he says eventually. Put in that light he forces his shoulders to straighten and he tosses a look Anthony’s way, a wry mix of embarrassment and fondness.

Anthony steps away from the tub again, hesitatingly picking at washcloth, sponge, soap, before looking at the noble again. “Just— if that’s what bothers you, I really don’t mind giving you a back rub. You’re always tense, even being as spoiled as you are, so…” Anthony doesn’t finish the phrase, shrugging instead.

"You’re the boss, Jarvis." And leave it to Lord Thompson to have to be reminded of that fact.

"You are right," Jarvis does not bother to sigh, allowing a soft huff of laughter to indicate his surrender. "I do still have trouble learning how to relax, and my muscles tend to be the ones to suffer for it," he only hoped that he would be able to relax.

Anthony relaxes at that, having tensed up in wait for the rejection - _thank you Anthony but you can go now_ \- nodding and grabbing the soap and the washcloth, stepping behind the Earl. “If it helps, remind yourself that right now you don’t have to do anything. Except breathing. Breathing would be appreciated.”

He passes the soap over the noble’s shoulders, fighting to keep his breathing regular, which is not that easy when his brain fixates on what nice shoulders Jarvis has.  
The boy passes the soap to Jarvis, starting to give the back rub he’d promised, one hand on the washcloth, the other on skin.

 _Breathe._ Good advice, now to hope that Jarvis can actually follow it. Despite his best efforts his breath may have stuttered. In fact he may have been so focused on breathing that he feared Anthony’s efforts to relax him may come to naught.

Though it does feel good. Soothing. So long as he ignored the fact that the one passing the cloth over his shoulders was his stray then it should even be pleasant. As it was the young lord would find himself unwinding incrementally, and then he would remember. It was a supreme effort to not broadcast his reactions.

Steady breaths. To distract himself he takes the soap Anthony had handed him, proceeding to clean off his arms and chest.

At the moment he almost believed that it would have been better if he had not accepted Anthony’s offer.

"Do you want me to be quiet or can one-sided chatter be a relaxing background noise for you?" Anthony asks, oblivious to Jarvis’ inner struggle, putting the cloth aside to press against that knot right below the Earl’s neck—  
—which he evidently didn’t bother thinking through, as Jarvis makes a noise and Anthony is very, very glad Jarvis doesn’t see him right now, the boy’s face heating up like the throat does after eating an entire jalapeno, instead keeping his hands moving, _oh lord, if Jarvis turned to look at him how would he explain furiously blushing?_

It felt wonderful, even if Jarvis knew that his face was bright red by this point. There was a brief jab of pain when Anthony pressed at the knot on his back, but it was soon followed by a sense of bliss. Jarvis never realised how tense he always was.

He sighs, his lips curved just a bit even though the boy would not be able to see it. “I always welcome your ‘chatter’,” he says, a hint of laughter escaping.  
This was shaping up to be the oddest bath he had ever had.

"Ah," Anthony replies intelligently, and then - of course - actually struggles for words. It’s not like he can just say anything that’s on his mind right now. “You reallly do? I’ve been told repeatedly that I talk entirely too much, and you’re encouraging me here.”

"When have I ever told you to be quiet?" Jarvis asks, this time the humor blatantly evident in his voice. "Though knowing you, you had most likely made the assumption that I was simply too polite to ask you to be quiet."

Over half a year, he realises. Half a year since he had caught a would-be thief in his kitchen. And in many ways it had been the best few months of his life.

"Something like that," Anthony admits freely, shrugging lightly. He’s been ready to hear the Earl change his mind about not reprimanding him for the chatter at work for the last couple months, and yet it has never come.

His lips quirk into a smile despite himself, because it’s nice knowing the Earl likes listening to him - it’s also encouraging in another, entirely inappropriate way, because part of his brain all too readily twists Jarvis’ meaning: _he likes hearing me talk, he must like having me around, Sharon said so, Jarvis likes me—_

"Maybe you’ll regret telling me this later on. Actually, if you’re serious, maybe this is a sign you have to get out more, socialise with people that do not annoy you with their mere breathing."

Jarvis simply starts laughing. “It sounds as if you are implying that our friendship is worse than hermitage,” chuckling he leans back just enough to catch Anthony’s gaze. 

"Of course it’s not," he protests, even sounding somewhat indignant about the mere suggestion, frowning a little when Jarvis looks at him, “anything is better than hermitage—”  
Even living on the streets he almost says, but bites his tongue.

“You need not worry, I shall be doing plenty of socialising in a few days. A friend from Russia will be arriving. I am certain she’ll pull me out to do plenty of socialising during her stay.”

"A friend?" Anthony’s eyebrows raise, half curious, half skeptical, "from Russia? That’s quite a long way to go for a friendly tea party." Of course, Anthony should be relieved to hear that Jarvis has friends and is getting some fun, but it’s hard not to suddenly and irrationally feel like the second fiddle. _I can’t even walk out the door with the Earl without fear for damaging his reputation._

"She is traveling through the continent to strengthen business connections. London is just one of her stops. Though an important one," his voice is soft with affection as he talks about her. "Ms. Romanoff is quite a dynamic personality. It has been some years since I have seen her," he does not say that she had been thinking of moving to England, Russia’s mercantile system beginning to stagnate.

"Sounds exciting," Anthony half-mumbles in reply, his smile wavering as he feels white-hot jealousy surging through him. This woman - alone the way Jarvis talks about her must mean she’s someone special to him, and that hurts in ways Anthony really doesn’t want to think about.

 _Do not focus on that,_ he admonishes himself, focussing on the Earl’s shoulders. _You will only be here for what, maybe another month? It’s good that Jarvis has someone. This way you’re not leaving him alone._

The noble remains oblivious to the underlying emotion in the boy’s voice. Instead he straightens. The conversation has done little to distract him from what has been happening. And he needs to move before it can really begin to affect him.

Anything to keep Anthony from knowing how much his proximity is affecting him.

"I think this time I’ll skip out of actually taking part in the discussion, though. Surely you don’t need saving when it’s a good friend who’s visiting you."

“She is hardly as terrible as Lord Friggason,” there is a smile in his voice. “If anything she is much more unconventional. And despite her nationality, is quite uncaring of what constitutes propriety,” he did not mention that she was much more terrifying than the mischievous earl. And possibly equally as shrewd.

"Is anyone as terrible as Lord Friggason?" Anthony asks, managing to infuse with voice with subtle humour, and biting his tongue before he says anything more, pressing his fingers into the Earl’s neck one more time before withdrawing. "Are you finished cleaning? The water is starting to cool. I could get some more buckets of hot water if you want."

"Oh, I could name a few. And no, I should not languish in the water too long," he makes to stand up, quickly snatching up a nearby towel to wrap around his waist. It was one thing to be able to essentially hide in the bathtub, but for some reason he feels even more vulnerable than before. Thankfully there are such things as towels. And robes.

Anthony is not peeking. If he would, that would make him the world’s most ungrateful idiot, because Jarvis, the Earl, has offered friendship, offered being equals, and that’s the kind of monologue Anthony inwardly recites while he fetches Jarvis’ robe, the Earl accepting it gratefully after he has dried off a bit more.

"Do you want me to put in a request to Sharon that you not be sent as the server again when Miss Romanova arrives?" Anthony had made mention of it, or at least Jarvis thought he had. "I understand, I suppose."

"I’m not made to be a server," Anthony replies, shrugging easily, "as I’ve proven time and time again, standing back and being quiet are not qualities that I could call mine, so— yes, that would be good, I think. All I would be doing would be to disrupt the two of you in your peaceful chattering."

Not to mention he doesn’t, really doesn’t want to invade on the privacy of the Lord with a special woman. He would rather not his unfortunate crush is unveiled thanks to him staring daggers at Miss Romanova when she’s sitting a little too close to Jarvis.

"Because you have such a tendency to disturb conversation as is," if anything Jarvis could name a time or two when Anthony had saved him from dreadful conversation. He had never really seemed to mind before, being sent in by Sharon.

And for a moment he wondered if Anthony had a specific reason for wishing to be exempted this time. He would rather be able to introduce his friends; believing that Anthony and Natasha had the strong possibility of getting along (at least better than he did with Loki). “I still want you to meet her, though,” he says, smiling as he shrugs into the bathing robe. “I think you two would like each other,” and he wanted his friends to meet.

"If you think it’s a good idea, I’ll trust your judgement," Anthony replies, the corner of his lips quirking upwards. It’s not like he can say no to that. Meeting the woman should be— interesting at least.

"She must be special to you."

Anthony pauses, frowning briefly at himself, but attempting to straighten his expression out immediately just in case Jarvis chances a look at him. Dear lord, is he becoming a masochist now? Isn’t it better for him the less he knows about the woman and her relationship to the Earl?

"She’s a good friend. I do not have many of those," Jarvis says this with a near sigh. His reticence with others had been one of the things his parents despaired of the most. That their son would be too withdrawn from society.

"I know," Anthony replies simply, and follows the statement up with an eye roll, patting Jarvis shoulder, "but to be fair, I imagine a lot of nobles don’t have many real friends. Loads of pretend ones, sure, but actual friends? I don’t think you’re a special case in that. It’s just that you’re less willing to entertain society and their constant attempts at profiteering from your status. Which is not necessarily a bad thing, I mean— at least you show some backbone.”

Anthony’s statement hits very close to the truth, a statement on the upper class that he is certain none of his acquaintances would truly appreciate. Loki might laugh at the it. How often had he said the same thing before? He sighs and goes to take a seat before the fire, allowing the heat to dry his damp hair.

"And as she lives in Russia I very rarely get to hear from her. Our letters take weeks to arrive," although thanks to her current travel their correspondence had been much quicker. But it would still be good to be able to speak with her in person. He did not mention that while part of their visit would be socialising, another would be pure business. He had a feeling that the Lady Romanova and Miss Potts would be spending more time together than he would.

At least Anthony’s presence could give him a break from business if he wanted it.

Anthony doesn’t want to comment any further on the visitor, almost afraid he’ll slip up or Jarvis will smell his irritation or maybe hear his heartbeat. (Silliest paranoia ever, you could say.)

"Do you want me to get you fresh clothes?"

"I find I am tired. If you could oblige me and bring my bed clothes?"

"You don’t feel like you’re going ill again, do you?" Concern slips into Anthony’s voice without any prompting, and he frowns lightly at the Earl. "How would you feel if I suddenly dropped without warning? That was just a little traumatising, you know, Jarvis.”

Maybe his words sound a little admonishing, which is almost funny. Anthony is just lucky he’s always been healthy as a horse, no matter what he subjected his body to - a kid getting sick without a roof over their head usually didn’t bode well for them - but in all fairness it’s not like he takes particular care of not going sick. Quite the contrary: he’s reckless with himself.

"No, I’m not ill. I’m just tired," he glances at the clock with a rueful smile. "I realise that it’s earlier than I normally would choose to head to bed. But it has been a long day," and this last part had been especially trying. Midevening was not terribly early, was it? It should worry him that he did not know what a respectable hour to be abed was.

Though what Anthony had said, no matter how flippant, made him think of a scenario he found that he could not decide how he felt about it. The thought of Anthony collapsing with such a severe fever as he’d had— well it was not a thought he wanted to contemplate over much.

Already having turned to go search for the other’s bed clothes, a thought occurs to Anthony, and he has blurted it out before he can stop himself: “I do not think I see the point of you wearing bed clothes, when you’ve got the softest sheets known to mankind.” He blushes almost violently at his own words, but thankfully, Jarvis simply laughs. (And if the Earl himself blushes at it, well, Anthony is too busy pretending that didn't just happen to notice.)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: lots of physical pain and gruesome treatment in this chapter; there's nothing too graphic, but if imagining how people during Regency treated broken bones (it was _horrible_ ) gives you hives, best skip this chapter.

Sharon wanted him to get the facade of the building free of greenery (at least the part of the greenery that grew without asking, leaving him with the fun job to climb among roses and ivy and not being allowed to let his frustration out on the thorny stuff which clearly would have deserved it more), so that was Anthony did, albeit with some grumbling.  
A lot of grumbling.

Anthony just thought of it as a crappy job, but no way did he even think of the possibility of losing his footing and tumbling towards the ground, too shocked to scream, though he has his mouth opened as if he means to - landing knocks all the breath out of the young man’s lungs, and when he slowly, carefully, pushes himself in a sitting position, he registers vaguely that everything aches and his leg seems in an awkward position there—  
unthinkingly, he reaches out to set it right.

The resulting pain-induced yowling could probably be heard all the way over in the colonies.

\--

The scream is startling, echoing up to the study window. The voice is unrecognisable at first, but after a moment he realises who is screaming. The chair tips over, forgotten as he runs towards the door, thoughts frantic as his feet guide him before he consciously understands what he is doing.

All breath whooshes out of his lungs when he finally arrives at the side of the house to find Anthony lying prone on the ground surrounded by several of the other servants. It only takes a glance for him to asses the situation.

The leg looks terrible. And he feels vaguely ill as the injury registers. Which is ridiculous, considering that he is not the one who was harmed.

Turning to some of the servants he asks questions, rapid-fire in his haste and worry. “Have you sent someone to the doctor, already?”

"Yes, my Lord."

He does not listen to anything more the servant says, turning to kneel beside his stray, careful to avoid the injured limb. “Anthony.”

"M fine,” Anthony insists without being asked, despite the way he’s white as a sheet and gives everyone who just comes that extra bit close to his leg wary looks.

"It’s not as bad as it looks, really," he looks directly at Jarvis now, imploring the Earl to believe him. The fact he’s sitting on the ground, leg twisted, having made quite the spectacle of himself - the few complete strangers who are by now standing by trying to chance a look are proof, though the Thompson’s household members mostly shield him from curiosity - lets him feel embarrassed more than anything.  
(And well, yes, now that the shock is starting to wear off, he’s hyper-aware of the pain his leg is projecting, but the embarrassment is still stronger.)

"From where I am standing it seems pretty severe," he can’t look at the leg, can’t force himself to catalogue the extent of the injury. His brows drawn down in a frown as he stares down at Anthony. In a lighter situation he would be rolling his eyes, but this was not a matter he wanted to joke about.

"I’ve had worse than this," the young man says, vaguely gesturing into the direction of his leg, not necessarily improving his situation by playing it off.

A hand comes up and Jarvis shakes his head. “My medical knowledge is sketchy at best, but I can tell you are going into shock,” he feels the clammy skin, small tremors that can be from either the shock or pain.

After a time the doctor arrives. There is a bit of shuffling, the other servants careful under their lord’s watchful eye as they move Anthony under the doctor’s direction.  
He pays no mind to any onlookers.

Anthony feels mostly discomforted when the doctor arrives and starts ordering people around - he would’ve preferred Doctor Banner, someone he already knows and at least can say of with certainty is a trustworthy person, he’s never been very good with medical people anyways - but he’s hardly being addressed, maybe because of that shock thing Jarvis was talking about, so Anthony tries to relax, to not look at what exactly they are doing when they heave him onto a makeshift stretcher.

He tries, he really does, but the movement lets a wince escape despite the fact Anthony already is biting the inside of his cheek, and it’s an automatic, not at all thought-through movement when he reflexively grabs the Earl’s hand and squeezes as if he was trying to wring it off its owner - still, the Earl makes no complaints.

“Bloody roses,” he swears under his breath, Jarvis lightly laughing at the words, and blacks out.

Hours the Earl waits. Elias and the doctor forcing him to leave the room. He frantically tries to contact Doctor Banner, but the physician is currently in a different part of the country. He jerks up, stopped only by Elias when he hears a cry as they set the leg. The pain must have been enough to rouse the boy for a moment at least.

They had set his leg right three people together and Anthony felt like they were trying to tear him apart, helplessly crying tears of pain and giving the doctor a blank stare through his swimming vision at the words 'you're lucky you broke your lower leg', because he really didn’t _feel_ very lucky.

Next thing the doctor does is showing Sharon and Elias how to plaster the broken leg, then the man leaves, and Sharon spends a while petting Anthony’s hair (which usually Anthony would protest against by claiming that he’s not a poodle, but he’s in pain and exhausted from being in pain and there’s no energy left to complain).

He sleeps a little, but it is a restless kind of sleep and the pain makes it hard to relax despite the way it’s now but a dull throbbing through the plaster.

The young lord forces himself to return to his study when Elias and Sharon convince him that it would be the best idea. Perhaps they were thinking of the gossip the doctor might spread. The sun is lowering behind the horizon when he can take no more of the suspense and leaves the isolation of the study to trace his way towards Anthony’s small quarters.  
Clearly Anthony is still too-pale, but awake.

"Hey, Jarvis," he greets the other, his tone of voice giving nothing away of the pain he’s in, "I can do secretary work like this. A lot of it. Apparently I’m supposed to keep still for a few days and if you just leave me with a pile of paper it’ll be either working through it or dying of boredom, so I’ll be incredibly efficient."

To Jarvis, Anthony looks terrible, pale and drawn, and he wonders if the doctor has even bothered to give the boy a decent pain reliever. He would have to see about willow bark tea or laudanum. He leans against the edge of the doorway and he tries to pull up a smile.

"I can see what I can do to alleviate some of the boredom," he says, the smile turning a bit more genuine. "Perhaps I could even bring in some books for you."

Natasha was supposed to be arriving in two days, but right now that was the furthest thing in his mind. Instead he was filled with worry, worry for a stray he had taken in months ago and had come to care for more than he would have ever expected. And if he let himself think on it too much now, he would become afraid.

Afraid of how intense these feelings had become and how important the boy had become to him.

"Work," Anthony says, and hopes he sounds as insistent as he feels about this, facing Jarvis straight on, "work comes first. Like this— it’ll take some time until I can assist Sharon again, and I’d rather not fall behind the schedule. The unofficial one, but still."

 _The debt, of course._ The old guilt resurfaces and Jarvis has to force himself to not let it show. And that he had lied already about how much was left. His is almost proud that he manages to keep the smile fixed firmly on his face, even if he can’t make it seem more relaxed.

"You do realise there is only so much paperwork to go around? It may seem like it fills my days, but,” here he shrugs. “I was asking because there may be times when there is little you can do.”

Anthony mulls this over, pursing his lips in a show of faint displeasure. “I suppose I’ll just roll out of bed in that case. Just lying around all day is bad enough, but if there’s nothing to do— I’d rather get moving again.”

Sitting still leaves him with entirely too much time to think, and Anthony already dreads whatever his brain is gonna cook up.

Jarvis feels so selfish. Now the boy was injured, he could not work and that was what had been driving him, hadn’t it? The drive to finish paying the debt, a debt that was larger than he realised, in order to go back to— Jarvis did not know what what. Freedom he supposed. And here he was offering him a book, as if Anthony were a normal friend rather than virtually shackled to his service.

"But if you know of a book that would keep me in bed, you’re welcome to give it a try." Anthony’s lips twitch into a smile, a bigger one this time, because he can’t imagine the Earl has the kind of book that will let him forget that he’s all but tied down. "I’ll grow restless in no time at all."

Maybe he already feels a little restless, what with Jarvis’ focus being so entirely on him.

"I may have a few tomes you’ll find interesting," though it may prove a fruitless gesture. Not because Anthony would find them boring but because he understood that the boy was the type who preferred movement over stillness. He simply hoped that that need for action would not lead to him exacerbating the broken limb.

"I’ll give them a try," Anthony promises nonetheless, smiling a small smile as he lets himself lean onto the frankly enormous pile of cushions that has been propped for his comfort (ridiculous if you ask him, but he still doesn’t feel up to start complaining).

"You really needn’t look so worried for me. The worst I’ll keep from this is an even stronger feeling of trepidation concerning doctors."

Jarvis takes a breath. “Well, hopefully you are not entirely turned off by doctors as Doctor Banner will be arriving tomorrow. I requested he come by, but if you would prefer…’

"Oh, no," Anthony says, a little too quickly to entirely fool anyone, "Doctor Banner has proven himself as not being as much of a pain even in a white coat. He can poke at me— though I’m not sure I see the necessity of it?"

He words it like a question, throwing the Earl a look. “Why did you send for him? One doctor seems enough to me.”

"Let’s just say that I wanted someone who I trust to take a look," from what Sharon had told him, the other doctor had been very abrupt. Skilled, yes, but Jarvis knew that it would not match Banner’s skill.

He suddenly felt awkward, standing in his servant’s room worried about a broken leg. If his parents could see him now they would despair. Loki would either laugh or mock him, perhaps both.

Shifting slightly in his spot, Anthony looks away from Jarvis and on his hands, twisting and untwisting his fingers.

"Would you— just stay and talk to me for a while?"

It’s a selfish request, and a stupid one to boot, but Anthony feels Jarvis will just nod and walk out any minute and he’d like to— indulge himself a little. Even if that means using his injury as an excuse to keep the Earl close.

"It’s really dull to just sit around, and I can’t sleep." The pain will probably keep him awake until he passes out from exhaustion, so what he’s saying is true - it’s just not directly related to him wanting Jarvis around just a little while longer.

The Earl’s face softens when Anthony asks him to stay. How could he do anything but comply? The only problem is that there is nowhere to sit in the small room, unless he decided to sit on the bed. For lack of a better option (he had no desire to possibly exacerbate the injury) Jarvis chooses to step a little further into the room and lean against the small wardrobe.

"I have to say, I am glad that I have never suffered a broken leg. When I was twelve I managed to fall from a horse and break my wrist though," is he rambling? Yes, he is rambling. All of his acquaintances would be laughing at him.

"It did not get me out of lessons, mind you. It was certainly difficult to learn how to write with the other hand," that had been a pain, and worse when his parents still required perfect penmanship. "Most miserable month I ever had. Or at least it seemed that way at the time."

"It’s not easy being of noble blood, huh? Can’t say I’m much able to empathise, my writing lessons were pretty enjoyable," not that it’s any surprise, but Jarvis is a great teacher. He still sometimes looks over Anthony’s shoulder when he writes something, but he declared the lessons no longer necessary. Anthony smiles again, picturing Jarvis in his younger years. It is successful in distracting him from his own pain, so that’s something.

"What were you like when you were younger?" He closes his eyes briefly, breathing deeply. For goodness’ sake, he is exhausted. Hopefully he’ll be able to just pass out soon - but he’s still much too aware of the pain radiating from his leg, and opens his eyes again, looking at Jarvis.

"When I was younger?" The surprise is real. Jarvis cannot imagine why someone would wish to know what he was like when he was a child. It was not as if it made for especially interesting conversation material.

"I was—" and he didn’t know where to begin. "Quiet," a truly inadequate description. He grappled for something better. "I was quite well mannered in comparison to other children I knew. Quite shy, much to my parents dismay, but I suppose you may have guessed that already. I had the terrible tendency of running away to hide from my lessons in the library," he smiles at the memory. "My tutor often assumed that I disliked lessons, so he could not imagine that I would hide in the room filled with books."

"I guess you grew up pretty sheltered."

"Yes, you could say I was sheltered. Closed carriages when traveling through the city, restricted to the manor, and you’ve seen the country estate," the smile lingers, even though his eyes are distant, lost in memory. "Little wonder my first view of poverty later brought such a shock."

Anthony looks at the cast his leg is surrounded by, frowning at the thought of what would’ve happened if he managed to break his leg while out in the street with no generous Earl to look out for him. Chances are low that someone would’ve set it right, and he’d probably walk crookedly for the rest of his life, if he didn’t die from hunger before.

Lord knows a broken leg doesn’t give you much opportunity to go food-hunting.

Shaking the bleak thoughts away, the young man looks up at Jarvis again. "I think I’d have liked knowing you then."

Why Anthony says that, he doesn’t know, just gives the Earl a smile while he thinks about the many closed carriages he’s seen in his time as a street rat. Jarvis’ parents would never have allowed that, of that he is certain even without having ever met them. (Unless maybe, if they saw that the stray can help the noble kid to come out of his shell—)

"Maybe your parents were concerned you wouldn’t see why they are worth less than you are.” How is a child supposed to understand social standings? Anthony sure didn’t, but he didn’t spend time to dwell on the injustice of it. Mostly, he was too busy being hungry. “And in the end you went down that road anyways.”

"Maybe," he has to hide a smile when Anthony says that he would have liked knowing him then. As impossible as it would have been back then, Jarvis thinks he would have liked it as well. "But I wasn’t worth more than they are," _than you are,_ he wants to say. Because to him Anthony has become so precious. May have always been precious to him, even from the beginning, that first night when he offered a stray thief something that he had offered no one else.

He finds he suddenly wants to know more about the other as well, but he hesitates, because comparing their childhoods is like comparing their stations in life. So far removed that Jarvis is certain he’d never be able to understand what his stray had been through.

"I think my shyness is why they encouraged the friendship with Loki," his lips quirk in just a small smile. "Though in reality he’s more standoffish than I ever was," just as he still was. "At least I didn’t dump wine on the Duchess of Carriavale’s head."

Anthony laughs weakly, a pale imitation of his usual chuckle. It’s not that the picture Jarvis paints isn’t amusing, but he simply lacks the energy to fully appreciate it.  
"They must have succeeded, then, seeing as he’s still your friend today. That is, if one applies the word ‘friend’ lightly." He closes his eyes again, taking a deep breath, before smiling apologetically at Jarvis.

"Pardon me, Jarvis, but I— I think I shall try to sleep for a bit, now." He doesn’t want someone to sit beside him all night, even if he’s pretty much immobilized at the moment. And in case he has to go to the toilet in the middle of the night, well, he’ll figure something out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also: thank you for leaving the first comment, random person! We both were a bit giddy reading it, so well done, and hey, you've got a good idea or two there... might've been a bit inspiring, too. Cheers!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guest appearance of the Lady Natasha Romanova, who's really just in it to get shit done - but when boys are being idiots, well, she's got something to say about that, too.

"Lady Romanova, you look as beautiful as ever," Jarvis greets the fiery redheaded woman with a bow as she ascends from the carriage.

"Lord Thompson, always so immaculate. Has no one ever told you that you should not outshine the ladies around you?" she smiles and takes his arm when he offers. "Really, you should be glad I _like_ you, or I'd take care never to be seen in your company. So tall, so blond, but what is going to undo me is that wicked little waist of yours, I swear!"

She sighs a sigh of the long-suffering, tossing her hair back, her long red curls bouncing around her face - and Jarvis laughs, reaching out to squeeze her arm.

"Truly, Natasha, it is a delight to have you here. And you needn't worry, next to you I fade into the background of any room as if I was part of the wall-paint."

The Lady Romanova gives him a sly smile that says enough, mostly about how she's fully aware of how enticing she can be. Nobody should let themselves be fooled by her appearance, however - the redhead is everything but a spoiled lady. In business endeavours, she can become downright terrifying, bringing even the proudest nobles to find some sudden modesty.

Jarvis gives a nod to Elias’ silent inquiry, leading his guest into the smaller, more private parlor while the valet left to inform the cook to send out some refreshments.

"How was your journey across the Channel?" the Earl asks, accepting her overcoat and hanging it up himself.

"Thankfully uneventful if you ignore the sailors trying to gain my attention, though I shall admit seeing one of them tumble overboard because he was too busy staring kept me well entertained," there is laughter in her eyes as she vaguely pats Jarvis' arm, not caring about the usual boundaries. Natasha thrives on bringing people out of their comfort zones. "But since you probably want to hear about the duller facts of my voyage, I'll say that the weather kept fair, too," she raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow, her attention diverted as Anthony steps through, quick eyes seeing far more than anyone else would. "Well now, who is this?"

Anthony silently curses himself and his leg, having intended to just hobble past the two, but of course, the hobbling bit made it near impossible to go by undetected or to suddenly flee.

At least having been indirectly addressed gives him an excuse to raise his eyes and look at Lady Romanova without being rude, and his heart plummets from his chest right down into his stomach. She’s beautiful, and jealousy surges within him like a wave, almost overtaking him.

"I didn’t mean to interrupt—" he says, directing the words towards Jarvis, before meeting Lady Romanova’s green eyes. "Anthony, milady. My name is Anthony."

She regards him with a little smile, and Anthony has to look away, lest she can read the word ‘jealousy’ painted across his cheeks.

Jarvis watches as a rare smile tugs at the corners of the Russian’s mouth and he wonders what she sees as she looks at the boy. It takes everything in him to not jump out of his seat and assist Anthony, worry niggling at his composure to see his stray hobbling around like this.

He may like Natasha, view her as a good friend, but he has never felt secure letting his guard down around the woman.

"Please," she says, voice carrying barely an accent. "You are interrupting nothing."

At this Jarvis steps forward, speaking up for the first time since Anthony stepped through the doorway. “Miss Romanova, this is Anthony Stark, he joined my staff back in the summer,” he hopes there is no hesitation in his voice. “Anthony, this is the Lady Romanova, just arrived in our fair country from a tour around the continent,” though of course he’d already told them both about each other.

"Ah— I— nice to meet you, Lady Romanova."

"Likewise, Anthony. Will you join us for a moment?"

Anthony just shakes his head, and his eyes widen when he watches disappointment blooming on the Lady’s face. He opens his mouth, but snaps it shut again, not trusting his vocal chords not to betray him right now.

"Are you scared of me, Anthony?"

Nothing about Natasha inspires fear in the way she is purposefully holding herself, hands folded in her lap where she's seated, flicking her eyes down. Everything about her speaks of the frail Lady people expect to see.

"Of course not!"

Anthony has hardly finished denying the mere suggestion of him being afraid when Lady Romanova smiles in that special way of hers and it dawns on Anthony that she’s playing him like a fiddle. Of course, by then it’s too late, as the Lady just walks past them, skirts rustling. “Come on, boys, let’s sit down, you can tell me the story of how you met,” she says over her shoulder, and Anthony meets Jarvis’ gaze with a sheepish expression, vaguely scratching his head while he mouths _'sorry'_.

Jarvis simply smiles and shakes his head, following the lady’s direction and taking a seat. Natasha had always had a way of getting exactly what she wanted, if you did not pay careful enough attention. And it was nice to see that her time back in Russia had not dampened that part of her personality. He had feared that the volatile politics that surrounded her would attempt to break her. He should have known she was much stronger than that.

"It is quite a story, I will not deny," he says, settling down into the one of the chairs. He gives a nod of thanks to the servant who comes in to quietly set out the tray of tea and small finger foods. And then another nod when the girl gave him a look of silent query. "It starts with one of my typical bouts of insomnia."

Natasha lifts her eyebrows again, quiet amusement in her expression while she slowly shakes her head at the Earl. “I have to wonder why many of your stories begin with ‘a typical bout of insomnia’. It might be half of those stories were dreams you had falling asleep over a book or two.” Jarvis bites his lips to keep from laughing at the image, silently thanks the serving girl returns with a third cup and begins serving the tea.

“Well, all the interesting things seem to happen when one is weary from little sleep.”

"It’s because he doesn’t know how to relax," Anthony quips up, another gross overstepping of all kinds of invisible boundaries, but he wasn’t trying to hold back - he wanted to see the Lady’s reaction, which is, all things considered, a little disappointed.

Natasha doesn’t even blink, nor gasp in shock, just turns her gaze on him as if she expected for him to jump into the conversation like this even when it was not at all Anthony's place.

"Oh, I agree," she says instead, radiating perfect calm and composure, stunning Anthony into silence. And then she leans in a tiny bit towards him, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, loud enough to have Jarvis overhear her easily enough: "what do you think we could do about that?"

Anthony can’t help the startled little laugh that escapes him at that, looking between the Lady and his Lord. Despite trying to avoid any contact with the noblewoman, he starts to like her almost immediately, from the easy way she talks to him to the playful question.

"I must admit, Lady Romanova, I’ve run all out of ideas," he says back in the same conspiratorial tone, holding back any ‘ideas’ of his he might have. They would hardly be appropriate, maybe not even for Jarvis’ ears.

"A pity, that," the Lady replies, and turns to Jarvis, then, raising a single elegant eyebrow, "do you have any ideas to resolve that particular matter?”

"It seems as if this is the year for everyone to chastise me about relaxation and leisure. And I want to log a complaint. I am more than accomplished at relaxing… when my schedule allows," it was a weak argument but Jarvis did not have much else to say for himself. The unimpressed twin looks on Natasha’s and Anthony’s faces told him that he was not being convincing either.

It is beneath his dignity to pout so he rolls his eyes instead. “You are all bullies,” the Earl says - not quite whining, but it is a near thing, and Natasha laughs.

“Just for that, Anthony, I am going to continue the story,” and Jarvis proceeds to do just that. Describing about hearing a sound in the dead of the night, and finding a less than subtle burglar laden down with jars and foodstuffs. “...and then he just drops all those jars, some of the most expensive food from my pantry left to scatter across the floor. So when he went to run I did what seemed normal at the time, I tackled him.”

Anthony drops the smile in favor of dropping his face in his hands, embarrassment creeping up his cheeks in the form of heat, a subdued murmur sounding from him as low comments of the story, something sounding like variations of 'why me'.

"A very hands-on approach," Natasha comments dryly, her eyes sparkling amusement while she casually lifts her tea cup to take a sip, and then flicks her eyes over to the young employee. 

It is only reluctantly that Anthony removes his hands from his face, carefully standing up from his seat. “And the rest, as they say, is history. You will excuse me, I’m sure there’s— kitchen work to be done.” A feeble excuse, but Anthony doesn’t wait for it to be approved, getting out of the room as quickly as his cast allows him, the door falling shut behind him with a soft click.

"Jarvis," Natasha says, having fixed the Earl with a look once Anthony's disappeared (probably to complain about his woes to the cook while trying to steal sweets), "what happened then? Between the both of you?"

The Earl tilts his head while he contemplates his answer. Because if he were honest, he’s not certain if he can answer the question at all. “I am going to assume you mean the entirety after I hired him,” because he does not want to dwell on the fact that Anthony is only there to pay off a debt. Fingers tap against the armrest as he casts his memory back, searching along the threads of their interactions. “I saw something in him that made me believe I could trust him.”

And that was the truth, because when he had looked at Anthony something in him had instantly relaxed around the stray. He had wanted to keep him, tether him close so that he might be given a chance to step closer to the wild, exotic, beautiful being that had stepped into his home.

"It made me believe that I could trust him, even though I did not know why. Catching someone stealing from you should not engender trust. But in this case it did. And after that," he breaks off, wetting his lips. _Yes, what had happened after that?_

_After that he had been able to step closer to the stray. His stray._

"After that Anthony took away my loneliness."

"Boys," Natasha replies, smiling lightly even as she rolls her eyes at Jarvis. It’s so precious, the way Jarvis talks about Anthony - she should’ve been suspicious earlier of how often the young servant appeared in the Earl’s letters, but it took seeing them interact together to make the penny drop.

And it’s painfully obvious once she has seen them, the little hints and gestures everywhere.

"You should tell him that, you know."

He should tell him much more, but Natasha isn’t here for relationship counsel. Not to mention it is not the Lady’s business to deal with.

She pats the Earl’s forearm, and when she pulls away she has changed her tone to something that’s more like her usual cool demeanor. “Now, we should talk business. I want to meet with Virginia later today, it's been much too long since I've seen her, so let’s not dilly-dally further.”

They turn their attentions to business, and Jarvis sends off one of the footmen with a message to Pepper. It was only shortly after he had seen Natasha off in a hansom (really there was little need for him to attend the meeting as well at this stage, and Natasha would probably have stepped on his foot at the suggestion - the both women get along famously, and no doubt enjoy this time they have to gossip - or whatever it _is_ they talk about - out of the Earl's hearing range after they've got the business part wrapped up) that Jarvis mind is taken up by what they had spoken about, replaying Natasha's words.

_'You should tell him that, you know.'_

What exactly should he tell the boy, his former stray? _You make my life more enjoyable_? That was possible, though it seemed to fall short of what Anthony actually did for him.

But Jarvis couldn’t possibly tell Anthony what he actually felt.

A surge of sudden nerves overtakes him, and it is a fight to push them back. The blond sighs, and looks up, realising only then how long he had been lost in thought. It doesn't serve to dwell on it, even with Natasha's words - he couldn't abuse Anthony's position for his own gain, after all.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The debt is cleared, and emotions run high. (Also thank you all for your comments! Much appreciated <3)

Anthony hasn’t slept.  
Of course, he could blame it on the lack of physical work going on, with his leg still in a cast. He’s more mobile now, but neither Sharon nor Jarvis would let him run around the mansion crawling under things or fixing cabinet doors, which is a damn shame - at least after a day of running around with Sharon, he’d drift away as soon as his head hit the pillow - but last night was different, last night he was too busy thinking.

Anthony will blame the fact he is currently, shortly after sunrise, hobbling into the Earl’s study, on the sleepless night he just had. Jarvis is already in there, of course he is - sometimes it seems as if the Earl just didn’t know a good night’s sleep. Today, however, Anthony can’t judge. He finds himself in much the same situation.

These past days had been filled with business, so much so that Jarvis had nearly forgotten everything else in his life. Except for one thing.  
This day had stayed in the back the Earl’s his mind for months, never leaving, and generating nothing but a well of nervous energy. And now it was here and Anthony was standing before him.

“Milord,” the boy says, the formality making Jarvis worry, not wanting to lose this friendship and almost tempted to run away so he wouldn't have to hear it - but when Anthony meets the other’s eyes and sees something that looks like hurt flicking across it, he is all but forced to give up the name with a small smile, correcting himself: “Jarvis.”  
Today is the day Jarvis announced Anthony will have his debt worked off. Today— today Anthony will make some embarrassing confessions and then flee the country. (Fine, not the country, the mansion, but excuse me if that doesn’t make for very dramatic story-telling.)  
"We should, um, I thought, maybe, let’s discuss my future?"

Jarvis forces himself to stay - at least ouwardly - calm. Anthony deserved to be able to say his peace. Especially after how selfish he had been.  
He puts on a pleasant smile, the one he brings out for business purposes. “Ah, yes,” he sets aside his book carefully. “It is that day isn’t it?” He stands, making his way behind his desk, practically hiding behind the solid wood. “Well, I cannot tell you what to do Anthony. The debt is paid and only you can decide what path you’ll take now,” _stay here, with me_.

"I think I should leave," Anthony blurts out, unwittingly stomping all over Jarvis’ unspoken desire, "and I should, well, I don’t have to but, I should probably tell you why. Do you want to sit down for this?"

The first feeling to roll through Jarvis, he later realises, is hurt. A sharp pain that seems to lance through his chest and a tightness in his throat that is kept at bay only because of long practice. The second resembles panic, because this means that he will be alone again, a completely selfish thought. Why should Anthony wish to stay? And the third is dread.  
Had Anthony learned of what he had done? Or had he been resentful of the debt the entire time? Had this all been nothing but a facade? Another lie among so many that litter his daily life?  
The boy hops through the room, plopping into his usual seat, unable to keep from shifting nervously. Before Jarvis can start babbling, begging for the other to reconsider his decision, Anthony starts speaking. Explaining.

“Not that I mean to worry you, but I kept something from you.”  
Oh, Lord, this sounds awful. Anthony would be tempted to laugh if he wasn’t so busy being mortified. “When Lord Friggason told me to be careful about being too close to you— because people would talk— well, part of me got, uh, maybe a bit too worked up over it, because I— no, this is, let me start again.”  
 _Look Jarvis straight in the eyes. Breathe. Out with it._ “I got a bit overly attached to you. You know what I mean— and I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bother with this, but it’s just, for that reason— I can’t hang around. After all, you are expected to marry a Lady some day.”

Somewhere during that phrase, Anthony looked away and he finds he can’t meet the other’s gaze anymore.  
Jarvis comes so close to interrupting, but each time he goes to speak Anthony says yet another thing that clogs his throat and ties his tongue.  
 _'You are expected to marry a Lady some day'._ Distantly he registers that the faint sound he hears is tearing paper, and he looks down to see that he is gripping the ledger too tightly, knuckles white against the parchment. He lets it fall from numb fingers and returns a dumbstruck gaze upon the man across from him.

"It got so bad that I caught myself wishing I’d been born a girl, because at least, at least I’d have a chance to be with you. Like this I just— that’s, I should go. Sorry. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take you up on the offer of helping me get a job." He gets up again, unable to stay still, hopping a few steps away from the other’s desk.  
Really, Anthony just doesn’t want to see the look on Jarvis face. It might be pity, or disgust.

_'I should go.'_

And then Anthony is turning away, away from him and Jarvis cannot let it end like this. The panic returns, a sense of urgency forcing him to move and follow. It is only thanks to Anthony’s broken limb that Jarvis is able to catch him before he has left the study. His hand slams on the door, holding it closed and he looks at Anthony, his stray, and his heart constricts. Anthony flinches, looking at the other with wide eyes. It’s not that he’s scared - never that - but the action takes him by complete surprise.  
"When have I ever cared about finding a wife? I have never intended to marry, in fact my cousin is counting on it," a shuddering breath.  
"Maybe you’ll change your mind some day," Anthony retorts, his voice coming out a little sharper than intended, "I don’t want you to pity—"  
"I don’t care what they might say. And I can’t— I can’t lose you. Anthony, my stray, please," he’s babbling and begging and doesn’t care. Anthony finds his mind reeling with what the Earl is telling him. "You have little idea of how much I have wished I could be with you. But I couldn’t. There’s was this stupid debt and— and I— There were so many times I wished I could just dissolve it, call it finished. I— I had promised myself I would respect your decision, but now I— I just can’t.”

"But you are— and I am—"  
He can’t finish either phrase. No, Anthony’s thought this over, imagined how this could go, but never would he have pictured to hear the other to ask him to stay, and oh Lord, but how is he supposed to say no to that?

Now he straightens, pulling away from the door. “Because I want that chance too. To be able to be with you. I—” a hand comes up but he stops just before it can touch, withdrawing again. “I almost think I have fallen in love.”

"Love? I don’t— I don’t understand, how could you have fallen in love with me? You told me you would never lay with me, and I thought—"  
Oh, but it is hard to think straight when your heart beats wildly in your chest and you feel laughter bubbling up, the hysterical kind, because what is this? _You must be dreaming. You must be making this up._

A strangled laugh leaves him. “I know, I know. It sounds like one of those penny novels that Lady Potts enjoys reading,” and he needs to unravel the thread of the conversation, remember just what he is saying. “But it’s true, I can’t— can’t imagine—” 

Oh but why are words evading him? And then he remembers Natasha’s advice. “Before you entered my life, I was so lonely. There was duty and work, long sleepless nights of… nothing. And then you came, and suddenly it was like there was a personal sun in my life. You— you took away the shadows in my life and I can’t imagine no longer having you here, by my side.  
"You are my friend, and perhaps more. Because I feel for you more than I’ve ever felt for anyone before."

He licks his lips nervously and recalls that conversation, one of the first between them. When he had offered a thief work. He remembered that Anthony had assumed he would want to take the payment out of his body. The revulsion at the thought of treating this person he feels so deeply about so callously is still there. Though it appears there was some misunderstanding about his meaning.

"That— that isn’t what I meant, Anthony. I, you see, I know how poorly some of my peers treat their servants. I’ve seen them use men and women under their employ and toss them aside. The thought of treating someone like that— well… it sickens me. Not because of who it would be with, but because of how they would be treated. Anthony,” his eyes are pleading. “I told you I would not use your body in that way. I would not force you to pay your debt with your body. Because you are not here for me to use and then toss aside. It was not—” he stutters over the next words.

He has never given voice to this before. It would have been too dangerous and it’s a measure of his trust in the other that he does so now. “It was not the idea of being with another man that made me react so… vehemently. The truth is I— I— I have never— I have never been attracted to women,” his hands clench. “I told you I would not take you to my bed not because of your station or gender, but because I will not take something that is not freely given.”

A moment of silence passes between them, Anthony doing little else but to stare at the Earl, mouth opening and closing. Opening and closing again.

"I can stay," he offers finally, tentatively, quietly, and he lights up like something catching fire, "I can— I can actually stay." This is blowing Anthony’s mind, and he finds his smile again, almost feeling like reaching out and taking Jarvis hand. He’s thrilled with having the Earl displaying that much trust in him, thrilled by just letting himself believe that this is happening, since not in his wildest dreams things would have turned out this way.

"The way I remember it, I would have given you my body had you told me you wanted it, because— well, you’re attractive, for a noble," there, a joke, a weakly teasing opening to hopefully take a bit of tension out of the air, "and I thought it would be what you expected of me. It was more than a little surprising for you to have taken me in for the sake of offering me food, a bed and a roof. That is what it felt like, to me."

He steps closer, nevermind the stupid cast, getting right into Jarvis’ personal space. “You had me at your mercy, and you never made me feel like it. I— never properly thanked you, for everything, did I?”  
A little smile, and Anthony reaches out, taking Jarvis’ face in his hand and carefully, giving the other ample time to pull away, puts his lips softly to the other’s, sheer willpower allowing him to pull away before letting himself go and turning a harmless kiss into something indecent, his voice hardly more than a whisper: “Thank you. For everything.”

The kiss leaves Jarvis flummoxed. It was not something he had ever expected to receive; the thought of actually getting something that he wanted left him completely stonewalled for several long moments before a broad, bright smile spread replaced the look of complete shock.  
This was something Anthony wanted as well. He cared about him too and returned his feelings. It was almost mind-blowing to know that his affections were reciprocated. That he was allowed to want this as well.

A laugh escapes him, shocking in it’s suddenness and he leans in to capture his stray’s lips in a another kiss, lingering over the feel and taste of Anthony’s lips against his own before he pulls back, their lips just a breath away. “I would say you are most welcome, but it sounds quite pretentious considering the circumstances.”  
He smiles a sheepish smile. “I will admit that I have felt quite selfish these past months. Because I take such pleasure from your company that I was reluctant to let you go.”

Anthony takes a shuddering breath, feeling overwhelmed by the whole situation – and then he chuckles. “Selfish? I just kissed the Earl of Aitherton. Me! The street boy. A nobody. Really someone that should keep at least five feet of distance between himself and an Earl and then possibly kneel if the other just so happens to look in his direction. Jarvis— I probably don’t need to tell you how absurd an idea this is, do I?”

"It may be absurd, though I suspect not quite as much as we both may think," honestly too many people seemed to have seen this before they did. "Every one of my close acquaintances appears to have noticed my affections for you long before I admitted it to myself," a hand comes up and he finally allows himself the luxury of touching, running fingers through dark, curled hair. To finally be given this liberty, it was a gift that he valued more than anything else.

The dark-haired young man lifts a hand, putting it lightly to Jarvis’ chest. Maybe Jarvis’ heart is beating just as quickly as his own? “It’s just my luck that I did not care about any of that when I decided to raid that Earl’s kitchen the day we met. I want to stay with you.” Anthony falls silent then, briefly diverting his gaze. His next words are mumbled: “I want you to not be lonely anymore. And maybe spend some more time in bed.”

"You are more remarkable and intelligent than anyone else I have had the pleasure of encountering and I count myself most fortunate that you chose my house to break into. And that you created such clamour when you did so," a warm smile spreads across his face, mixed with a liberal dose of wonder. And then he laughs, the last comment making affection and fondness bloom anew. "Ah yes, I should have expected that this was all a ploy to keep me abed longer."  
Anthony lowers his head, absurdly feeling a little shy at the other’s words, fiddling with his hands. How does one react to such high praise?

"I— that’s— really? I mean, thank you," he finally says, discarding the attempt of saying anything more than that, to put what he feels into words. It’s wonderful and nerve-wrecking, what he feels, and even if his tongue didn’t catch in his throat, he wouldn’t have known how to express himself. Taking a deep breath, Anthony turns his focus to the way Jarvis all but pets his hair, and asking a question half out of curiosity, half out of the desire to distract himself from his own lack of eloquence: "Is that why Lord Friggason told me to keep my distance? Did he know?”

"It is very possible," Jarvis punctuates his words with a roll of his eyes. "That man is entirely too perceptive for his own good. And takes far too much pleasure out of that fact," as the other earl had demonstrated on more than one occasion. However he has no desire to disclose some of Loki’s wilder schemes to Anthony. Really, some things were just too embarrassing to rehash. Although with this in mind he intends to make their next meeting very unpleasant for his long time friend.  
Best to push such thoughts aside for the moment. “I mean what I say. You truly are remarkable. After all, how many people would be able to teach themselves how to read?” And so much more.

He looks up at Jarvis again, a small smile on his lips. “Of course. It’s got nothing to do with you being an all-around much too good person, but all with the way you don’t know to appreciate a proper bed.”

“I want to claim otherwise, but I realise that any argument I make could most likely be easily countered,” Jarvis adds with a sheepish look. He really is terrible about letting work go. “In my defense, my insomnia has improved.”

"You mean to say it’s been even worse?" Anthony retorts, amusement in his tone, lightly teasing the Earl, "I am not convinced that is an argument in your favour— milord. And you need to stop complimenting me, I’ll start blushing." Actually, his cheeks have already warmed up, but maybe if Anthony denies it strongly enough it will go away unnoticed. Just to be on the safe side he averts his gaze again, fingers moving to fiddle with Jarvis’ shirt. He needs something to busy his hands with, to try and get a hold of himself.  
It’s not working out all that well.

The sheepishness returns, doubled this time as Jarvis does not really want to admit how terrible his insomnia had been at times. Though perhaps worse is the fact that he had not noticed until after Anthony had helped to ease it. “It may have been, yes. I would manage to get a few hours of sleep most nights however, so really there is little reason to think it so bad,” best not to say exactly how much sleep he had averaged in those days.

"I— what did you call me, before?" It still rings in Anthony’s ears - _my stray_.

Now the Earl forcibly turns his mind away from the question of sleep or insomnia, because that is embarrassing to discuss, to Anthony’s question, trying to puzzle out what the boy was talking about. Comprehension comes in a flash of insight as he rakes his memories to recall everything he had said. When he realises what the question is about it brings a wave of keener embarrassment on it’s tail. He had never voiced the private endearment aloud, only in the privacy of his own mind.  
He finds his cheeks heating in a mirror of Anthony’s own and ducks his head. “I—” he rubs a hand through his hair nervously. “Ah, I did not realise I had said that. I’m sorry if it may have offended.”

"Do I look offended to you, Jarvis?" Anthony smiles, finding his composure again at the look of the Earl’s embarrassment. He really shouldn’t enjoy the other’s blushing the way he does. "I’m merely— curious to know what you mean with such an unusual form of address, is all, I’ve never heard that before—"

"Well," if anything Anthony’s reassurance caused him even more embarrassment. Though he was so flustered he was certain that there was no way he could talk his way out of answering. Not that he would think to try. "In my defense not many people have their very own… stray," it had been a private endearment for so long that it sounded strange to say it aloud. "I’m sorry, it’s not very flattering," he mumbles this time, voice going lower as he answers, though with the vague hope that if he’s quiet enough Anthony will not actually catch his words. "You’re my stray, because you wandered into my home."  
 _Oh please don’t ask anymore._ Really, he hoped dearly that Anthony did not take offense.

"Your stray." Anthony chuckles into Jarvis’ collar, unable to be anything but amused. "How could anyone argue with that logic?" He draws back then, searching Jarvis’ gaze without loosening his hold. "My sole protest would be that the moment I did wander in here, I lost my stray status and became a kept— well, a kept stray. Kept man. You know what I mean."

“‘Mine’ is a much better suffix than ‘kept’ wouldn’t you say,” he chuckles, though the mortification is soothed somewhat his cheeks still carried the redness of his blush.  
"Hmm, we both know you could have left that night, or any night, and made your way quite comfortably. That you have stayed, perhaps that is what makes you my stray. Because you decided to stay," _with me._ He leaves the last unvoiced else he start smiling in that sappy way again.

Anthony stops his hands from playing with the hem of Jarvis’ shirt, stepping a little closer, his arms settling around the Earl’s waist in a hug. Jarvis is taller than him, meaning Anthony can comfortably tuck his head under the blond noble’s chin.  
It’s nice to be so close to the other, and it’s something Anthony has craved for a while, even more so than the opportunity to kiss the Earl. Not to mention the handy side effect that Jarvis won’t see his face while he asks another question:

"Do you think you would sleep more if I shared your bed? I know it’s— not appropriate and I have my own room, but I just—"  
That question was certain to keep the Earl blushing for the rest of the day. As well as bring about thoughts that he had tried for so long not to indulge. With his stray curled so close to his chest he could not duck his head; instead he found his fingers toying with the hem of Anthony’s shirt. “I— I don’t mind. But I think—” oh lord was he actually going to say this? “Yes.”

Anthony tells himself firmly not to stutter, but once he opens his mouth to reply, he can’t do anything about it. “Well— if— if it makes you sleep better, then I— I think we should. Your bed is incredibly big, after all. You’ll just have to excuse me— in case I get, well, clingy.”  
He’s blushing again, inwardly cursing his stupid sleeping habits.

Another chuckle escapes him, this time Anthony’s stuttering distracting him from his own shyness. “I think I would not mind that,” he says instead. If anything it would be… nice. To have that intimacy and closeness. To be touched.  
"Besides, I think what’s actually preferable to use as a form of address would be my name,” Anthony protests vaguely, not putting much force behind his words - the embarrassment is still too strong for that.

"If you insist. Anthony," he can’t resist fitting in that one last bit of teasing.  
"I’ll make sure to bring your attention to it when you’re calling me stray, because I’ll call you by your title then,” Anthony replies, lips quirking briefly.  
In response, the Earl pulls a face. “Point. I will attempt to use your name if only to avoid such a punishment,” though it was not as if he would go around calling Anthony ‘stray’ in everyday life as it was. 

Jarvis is right, isn’t he? Anthony has decided to stay. Has done so a long time ago, only he didn’t allow himself to actually imagine he could stay after the debt was paid, not with those - entirely inappropriate thoughts of his.

"It’s most definitely a good thing if you don’t mind, because I don’t think I can help it— sorry." A sheepish smile, then Anthony loosens his hold on the other to vaguely scratch at his neck. "Lord Friggason— he was right, wasn’t he, when he reminded me of the consequences this would have, on you, and your business-making." He frowns in a manner that makes him look more straight-up adorable than serious, which is definitely not the desired effect. “I don’t want to be the one to ruin you.”

The boy’s words make Jarvis turn more sober. Sadly what his friend had said was true. "I wish that he wasn’t but Loki was correct. A friendship with a servant can be looked upon as yet one more eccentricity. After all, it’s not as if such a thing is entirely unheard of," in fact it may even be more common than most of the more pretentious members of the peerage assumed. It wasn’t as if it were easy to trust another member of the Ton. "If anyone found out," the thought could not be born.  
It would mean disaster, for Anthony at the very least it could mean prison or death. With a title Jarvis might be able to fare better. If he went quietly and did not resist for Anthony’s sake.

"I could say the very same. So I suppose we will have to be quite the discreet pair," he tries for another smile and a lighter atmosphere. "I’m certain that will be sufficient enough a challenge for you."

Anthony raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced.  
"You didn’t catch me in your kitchen because I was being _discreet_ back then, and it’s hardly my strength today— you might have to rein me in. A lot. Or we’ll both have to learn a thing or two, I don’t think a single person in this household doesn’t at least suspect something.”

 _Because we got caught sleeping in the same bed at one point,_ but Anthony doesn’t clarify that. He doesn’t want Jarvis to change his mind about letting Anthony sleep in his bed. That’s probably hypocritical and selfish of him, but— now that he’s got the Lord to allow him that, he’s not willing to just hand it away again.

"Hmm, true. You were making quite the racket that night. I have always wondered, was that your first time breaking into a house? Although I suppose I should commend you for being able to break-in in the first place. That is no easy feat in this neighborhood,” the aristocracy would create more than a headache than it was worth if they had even a hint that their homes were not as secure as they believed. They invested no small sum in ensuring that security.

Jarvis found it endlessly amusing that his incompetent thief had managed it.

Anthony draws his brows together, straightening and poking Jarvis in the chest in protest. “I was not as useless as you seem to believe, Jarvis - that was the first time I got caught.”  
A rueful smile. “Though I’ll have to admit I was also particularly desperate that night.”

It seems so far away now, but Anthony still remembers being cold and hungry, ready to forego his pride and beg for a couple scraps - only that was useless, mercy having seemed an impossible trait on London’s street - until he met Lord Thompson.  
But that one’s really just an incredible weirdo.

An eyebrow wings up at the mention that his little thief had managed to successfully break into other houses in the neighborhood. Interesting considering it had barely even made the gossip. Possibly the staff had kept the theft of food quiet so as to not be accused to the theft themselves. Many of his peers could be quite unforgiving. He does not press for more information however, turning his attention back to the sheaf of papers.

"So, um, now that I’m up and not going anywhere, want me to look through your letters? What do you do the whole day when you get up so early?"  
At the request, for he could tell it was a request for something to do, he tilts his head towards a small stack of papers. “Yes, if you would be so kind,” he smiles. “And here I thought you admonished me enough to know. Work, as it waits for no man. And reading, when I can afford the time.”

"How about we try that thing of putting some time into the schedule just to do nothing? Also— could you maybe help me take off the cast?” He gestures at his leg, a hopeful look on his face.  
Sure, Doctor’s order was to keep it on for at least another week, but Anthony wants to claw the awkward thing off his leg since about five minutes after he got it.

"A day to do nothing, you really are aiming quite high aren’t you?" He smiles and pushes the pile closer towards the boy while pulling the log book before himself closer. "I do not even know if I could manage it. An afternoon maybe, but…” he shrugs eloquently. Actually, the idea had a great deal of appeal. A day of idleness, perhaps two. And if Anthony was beside him it would be entirely worth the effort.

"The most rewarding goals to reach are the ones for which you aim the highest, naturally. We can work our way up, start with small breaks. If you’d be at all religious you’d have to have at least one day in the week to do nothing— there’s a bible quote which I won’t attempt citing.”

The second request meets with a little less cooperation. “The good doctor was quite express in his instructions,” though the Earl softens a bit in sympathy. “It may be frustrating, but certainly necessary, Anthony,” a beat of silence then “I could, however, see about the feasibility of removing it a few days early.”

Anthony hobbles over to plop down into his usual chair, in front of Jarvis’ desk, a long sigh escaping him even as he rips the first letter open. “I know.” He falls silent, then, scanning and dismissing the letter and reaching for the next one, looking up at Jarvis when he offers to maybe perhaps give him the chance of getting rid of the thing a little earlier.

"That— would be appreciated," he smiles widely, lowering his gaze. It is - strange to consider still, that at least from Jarvis, he doesn’t have to attempt to hide his affections anymore. "Can I ask— what about Lady Romanoff? You seemed so close, I thought—"  
Anthony doesn’t bother finishing the phrase, instead looking up at the Earl again for an explanation, hoping to get his jealousy dismissed - despite everything, his ego wouldn’t take well to being considered a mere distraction for the long months in which the Lady isn’t around.

The question makes a furrow of confusion appear between his eyebrows. “Lady Romanoff?” he repeats. “She is a friend,” his mind whirls as he tries to interpret what Tony is implying.

When it strikes he can’t decide whether to laugh hysterically or thump his head on the desk. He settles on what he hopes is a neutral expression. “I suppose I should repeat that we are merely friends. There has never been—” he grapples for the right words. “There has never been even the thought of something more between us.”

The idea of having that sort of a relationship with Natasha seemed almost laughable to the young lord. Natasha was not one for marriage, and he was almost afraid to think of what marriage with her would be like.

"Why— why did you think that it might be a possibility between her and I?"

Anthony just watches the Earl, pausing in his task to raise a single eyebrow at the noble. Confusion and… amusement? Somehow Jarvis must feel Anthony just made a really good joke.

"It’s not that far-fetched," is what the boy finally says, sounding a bit defensive. "You write to each other, after all, and aside from maybe Pepper, Lady Romanoff seemed the only one that is really close to you."  
He looks away then, shuffling the letters absently. “And she’s really beautiful— befitting one of your status, many would say.” There’s a wry smile on Anthony’s lips, because nobody and no one in their right mind would ever consider the same of him - and Jarvis still believes the assumption of him and Natasha being absurd.

"For us to have a relationship one would first have to assume that the Lady Romanoff would prefer to leave her native Russia behind. While I could certainly see the appeal of leaving said country behind, she seems to enjoy the more dangerous edge Russian politics holds," he contemplates having a fresh pot of tea sent up. He could use an extra cuppa.

"And for the both of us to have a relationship, one would first have to assume that you are insane and I— not very bright, I guess." Anthony smiles wryly, inclining his head in a small nod.

Decision made Jarvis pulls the necessary cord to put through the request for more tea. “We are friends, have been for many years now. Well, as much as the distance can allow really. Sending a letter to Russia is not nearly as easy an endeavor as one may think. Especially in winter,” his lips quirk in a smile. “Or anytime of year really.”  
He sighs. “It is true, though, I allow few people close. Natasha and I have a history. She can be just as reserved as I. And I believe that it is my disinterest in marriage that has contributed to our closeness. Neither of us is after the other’s wealth. And that is… precious.”

"Yes— but I understand, I saw it myself after all, how hard it is to have real friends when you’re of status and wealth.”  
Eyeing the cord the Lord just pulled almost warily, Anthony makes to stand. “I’m not usually at your office at this hour— should I leave before someone comes? That would be subtle, right? We’re— supposed to be subtle.”

The way Anthony says it, it sounds as if he was seeking to convince himself as much as the other, not looking very happy about it all the same.

"I am just calling for tea," reaching out to set a hand on the boy’s shoulder, a silent request to stay seated. "They will think little of you joining me, truth told. Even if being awake this early is a tad unusual for you, I will admit. That might raise a few brows."

He plays with one of the quills idly. “I also highly doubt that seeing us working together so early will instantly cause tongues to wagging. After all, we are, quite literally, working. They’re used to seeing me work so early,” or at least he hoped that gossip wouldn’t brew over the simple sight of the two working together so early in the morning.  
He had to have some faith in his staff, he supposed.

"Perhaps I am insane," the words are soft, settling gently between them.

"Perhaps?" Anthony quips back, keeping his voice just as soft despite the teasing tone, and smiles, reaching up to briefly squeeze Jarvis’ fingers on his shoulder - he’s tempted to lean in to steal a small kiss, but only thinking about it lets his face heat up, and he hesitates too much, insecure of whether such a gesture would be wanted or when someone will walk in through the door - before sitting back down again, opening a letter.

"Thank you." For so many things. “But, you know— I feel the staff knew about this before we did. At least if one’s inclined to believe the kitchen gossip.”

Jarvis comes so close to leaning down to take a kiss, just a small one. He would be content even with something as simple as a brush of lips. Instead he only brushes the back of his fingers along the boy’s jaw as he pulls his hand away. Perhaps later, when there was less chance of exposure.

"It’s entirely possible," he acknowledges. "I wouldn’t even be surprised if they had tried their hand at matchmaking," even so, they may be accepting, but they still had to be careful. If it were a simple matter of hiding a relationship that would be easy, but there was the differences in their station to consider. And Jarvis had so many enemies.

Rather than voice his thoughts he smiled and took a seat. The maid arrived with a tray of tea just as he was pulling the sheaf of papers towards himself. The tray was set for two.  
Anthony’s eyes grow wide as his gaze catches the way the tray is set, throwing the retreating maid a questioning look, but she’s curtseying in the vague direction of Jarvis and gone before Anthony has gathered his wits together to speak up.

"I thought I was being furtive when coming here— does someone in the kitchen have the ability to see through walls?" He raises a questioning eyebrow at Jarvis, absurdly thinking of kissing the other again (can he think of nothing else when looking at the Earl now?), which makes Anthony look away again quickly, putting forth a couple letters, swiftly changing the subject. "Those are all acceptations of your invitation. Are you planning another ball? The way I remember, you hate those things."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is everything resolved? Well, spoiler alert: no. Really no. But I can't tell you any more, so I guess you guys just have to be patient and wait for the chapter updates, which might be farther apart now, since we're still fleshing the story out, and from this part on, we're still working on getting it all together. Toodles!


	19. Chapter 19

"I am certain that someone saw you sneaking through the halls to my office." Jarvis had learned quite some years ago that the servants in his employ were terrifyingly efficient.

"I wasn’t sneaking," Anthony protests, though it’s hardly more than a mumble, "I was walking in a perfectly inconspicuous fashion."

The boy’s sullen mumbling is very nearly adorable, though why that would be, the noble couldn’t tell – he never before felt that someone pouting to be in any way endearing, but in this moment even that simple feat has him fighting the urge to take a kiss. Now that he knows that he is allowed it will be an even greater challenge to resist temptation.  


Instead of acting on his wishes, the blond snorts out a laugh. “You have lived in a house filled with servants for several months now. One would think that you had learned the very valuable lesson that nothing is secret in such a place. Unless, of course, you are in a locked room. Although I would not even bet on that in some of the older manors.” Bloody paranoid ancestors could create more trouble after death than they accomplished in life. "Thankfully the townhouse has no hidden rooms or spy holes." Because he had made certain when the place was built that there wouldn’t be any such surprises.  


"Oh." Anthony blinks, mulling that information over - it’s true the house-keeping staff is everywhere, but he has never considered them to be some sort of informant’s network. "I always believed the servants weren’t paying much attention to me, was I wrong? Besides, hidden rooms sound fascinating, how do you hide an entire room?"  


“In the walls. You hide a room in the walls. Or under the stairs. Depends on the illusion you can create with the walls.”  


There’s a small pause before Anthony leans forward, absently tapping his finger against his still-empty tea cup. _Cling cling._ “But— maybe that’s a stupid questions, but would that not be obvious? Looking at the house and then being inside it, don’t you notice that some space in it is just, you know, missing? Unless it is under the stairs, I guess that’s just space nobody thinks to look at.”  


"If you hadn’t noticed some of the walls in the manor were quite thick. A great deal was to afford more privacy for the occupants, as well as insulation. But some of those are false walls. There are even secret doors and corridors connecting some of the walls. Not many, but enough to entice a child growing up in said manor." He had fond memories of getting ‘lost’ in that house. "You’d be surprised what goes unnoticed when people want to hide their secrets, even among servants."  


With long perfected movements the noble pours a measure of tea into both cups, the china clinking against the saucer as he set it before the other.  


Anthony leans back when Jarvis pours the tea, setting the letters aside in favour of turning his attention on the china, bringing one cup to his lips and blowing on the tea’s surface. Often he’s just burned his mouth gulping it down uncaring, but the Earl tended to give him that look that is a mixture of disapproval and worry when he does. Besides, the longer tea time goes on, the longer he could keep the blond from working and just chat with him instead.  


"I was never particularly good at keeping secrets," he admits, and then laughs a little, almost splashing tea on himself. "but I think you’ve already seen that for yourself."  


"Not terribly good at staying quiet when pulling a theft either if I recall," Jarvis replies, grinning easily at the sound of the boy’s laughter. “And for the servants not paying much attention to you, clearly you believed wrong. I can not say that I know the full inner workings of the staff, but if anything they have a tendency to watch each other more than their employers. But then again, I might be wrong.” Or it’s more accurate to say that the collective heads of staff keep a watch on everyone. “In their defence you came into my employ in a very unusual manner.”  


"You’re the expert," Anthony replies, a little sullenly, not liking that he’s still not knowing things even after almost a year of employment in the same household - not enough does he obviously not know how to efficiently sneak around the house, he also doesn’t understand to properly appreciate his environment, an ability he prided himself on when he was still living on the street and probably saved his neck once or twice.  
"—because in my defence, I’m not used to having that kind of staff around me. Never had that before I stumbled into you.”  


It’s with an effort that Jarvis tears his gaze away from every movement Anthony makes and turns his attention back to his duties. “Certain… friends of mine convinced me of the prudence of holding a second fete. Something about properly celebrating the date of my birth.” Or more precisely, to have more than an intimate tea party of close confidantes. One had to wonder why some of his so-called friends felt the need to convince him to socialise more. He hid a grimace as he looked at the pile of acceptances. “And since I so rarely hold events like this it appears that everyone is viewing it as a rare treat.”  


"Your birthday? When is it? That’s something you’re supposed to know about your— partner." Obviously Anthony has weighed his words carefully before he puts their relationship down into two syllables.  


The Earl takes a bracing sip of tea before answering the question. His birthday was not something he tended to pay much mind to. And being coerced into holding a fete only made him uncomfortable about the subject. “Ah yes, I give so little mind to the day that it must have slipped my mind. It is next month on the sixteenth. When I was growing up that was the day Lord Witham threw his annual gala; he’s gone now and his family did not keep up the tradition. I suppose now that I’ve grown I—” He leaves off with a shrug.  


There’s a brief moment of silence between the two, Anthony worrying his lower lip before he speaks up again. “I’d like to attend, but I’ve proven time and time again that I’m not made to be a serving boy— anyways it’ll only be for the one evening,” he says, attempting to comfort Jarvis. “Out of curiosity - if you could shape your birthday after your own wishes, what would you spend the day doing? Because I’m guessing it would be to drink tea and read some books, but maybe you’ll surprise me.”  


Anthony’s assumption about his normal plans is eerily accurate. It is very likely the boy’s assessment of his capacities is accurate as well, but for some reason the earl just wants to ignore his intuition.  


Fingers tap tap again. His mind whirling back around to Anthony and the party. He wants him there, but he wants to respect the boy and what he believes his limitations to be. He doesn’t want to push Anthony to do something he was uncomfortable with. But… if only he was allowed to really invite the former stray, openly and without pretense.  


The young man watches the Earl tap his fingers against the heavy wood of the desk, pursing his lips a little. He recognises the gesture as one of the noble’s nervous habits, frowning while he flicks his eyes up to meet the blond’s eyes again.  


"What is it?" he gestures at the Earl’s hand, then shrugs a little, "you only do that when you’re, I don’t know, nervous about something."  


"Hmm?" His fingers instantly fall still when Anthony says that, and his eyes slide to the side, trying to hide the thoughts swirling behind them. But it is not within him to deny his stray an answer. "Just… simply wishing that you could attend." Why were those words so hard to say? "I think… the event would mean more if only you could be there."  


Antony’s falling quiet at that, worrying his lower lip while altogether forgetting that he lifted his tea cup to his face to drink from it, leaving it hovering in midair.  


"You know," he starts, and then hesitates, putting the cup down on the desk, "I mean— you’re the host. You’re also, kind of, the boss of everything, so—” The boy trails off again, shrugging sheepishly.  


“If you want me there, then I really should be. Only thing is that you’re gonna have to explain to people why one of your servants is grossly incompetent in serving tea in the proper manner and then you’ll have to tell them that you picked me off the street and they’ll think you’re gone and lost the rest of your marbles—”  


"Oh trust me on this, the staff would never allow you to serve tea at an event like this. I think they would set you on coat duty or at the doors." But even then, at least he would be there. And isn’t that an idea? "Honestly, the Ton would hardly be surprised to hear the news. They absolutely love to gossip about the Earl of Aitherton’s ‘new case’," the grimace he gives eloquently speaks of how he feels about the wording.  


"But surely you could handle the doors or coats without a terrible fuss? Do not feel obliged though. You are free to decline. It is work typically reserved for the footmen, but…" He trails off, suddenly unsure.  


"I don’t know why you would wish for me to handle the doors or the coats other than seeing me embarrass you, m’lord,” Anthony drawls, a playful smirk playing around his lips, “but I’m at your service. Is that what an actual footman would say?”  
The boy raises his eyebrows, still clearly amused. “It’s no use looking so worried now, Jarvis. You wanted me on the party; you’re bound to deal with the consequences of getting what you want now. Honestly, should you not act a little more spoiled, befitting your rank?”  


"Wouldn’t you consider me being able to get my way sufficiently spoiled?" He tries for a hesitant smile. There are still boundaries here, still areas where he does not know when to push and when he should hold back. "But I suppose that is a good start towards acting like a footman. You could even ask for pointers.  
"That is… if you want to do this. Quite honestly you could watch from the balcony and I would still be content.” Just the simple fact that Anthony wanted to be with him was enough of a gift.  


"Watch from the balcony?" Anthony does not look impressed at the prospect at all, frowning at his lord. "That would bore me to tears, Jarvis. And not help the feeling of being completely excluded - if I have to deal with that, it’d be better to mope behind closed doors."  


The boy shrugs, tilting his head at Jarvis. Something is clearly bugging the noble, it is written all across Jarvis’ face - just what it is and how Anthony can alleviate whatever it is, the boy has no clue.  
"You know you don’t want me bored and in the public’s eye.”  


Jarvis can’t help it. This time when he smiles it’s more genuine, not laden with anxiety or nerves. “And yet you would rather serve drinks rather than work the doors?” He chuckles. Could he really push his desires on the other?  
But his eyes soften after a moment, his laughter gentling. “Will you? Take work at the party?”  


Anthony rolls his eyes at the way Jarvis asks him, a fond smile playing around his lips. “Yes, milord. If it makes you happy, I might even do it for free. What are you worried about, offending me?”  


He hesitates but a moment, but Anthony deserves the blunt truth, even if he feels self-conscious about his reasons. “I do not want to push you. To make you feel obligated to do what I want in any way.” Another hesitation. “I— I am very aware of how unequal our circumstances are.” After all, the boy had only just paid off the debt to him.  
"But I guess I should not be so afraid of pushing you into something you do not want. You really are quite vocal about your opinions."  


"Ah. Yes, you’re right - I don’t act like your helper much, anyways. Feels more like I’m working for Sharon most days, she’s actually being an authority person, but you?" Anthony smiles, giving a small shrug.  


"I have no doubt that everyone in this house, except maybe Elias, works for Sharon," Jarvis replies, and Anthony nods. Nothing to disagree with there. After all, Sharon made all the household decisions. If not for Elias she would most likely order the young earl around as well. It was simply a measure of Elias’s efficiency that she didn’t take his job as well.  


"I mean this in a good way, but you really are much too wary of stepping on my toes. Jarvis, I lived on the street, I can take a lot more than this." Granted, he’s not used to the harsh treatment anymore, and if Jarvis suddenly did treat him like someone less, it would come as a shock - but still.  
Anthony doesn’t dwell on it, lifting himself out of the chair. “Speaking of Sharon, I should go check up on today’s work schedule.” He lingers a bit, though, uncertain of how to go about taking his leave, considering the - circumstances.  


It would be impossible to miss the boy’s hesitation, and Jarvis allows himself the luxury of a smile. Standing up the young earl moves forward, there is no one around and he feels comfortable cupping the back of Anthony’s neck to pull him forward into an all too brief kiss. “We would not want to keep the ruler of the house waiting.” The smile lingers even after Anthony’s departure.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will punch you right in the solar plexus. Don't say you haven't been warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight trigger warning: there's talk of a rape-scenario in this chapter. Nothing graphic, nothing shocking, just a talk with some extremely reluctant hints. We're in the Regency Era and _one doesn't talk about this_ , after all.

Innocently sleeping together in one bed quickly became the norm, and after repeated coaxing and convincing, Anthony eventually accepted that his tendency to snuggle the Earl of Aitherton himself while asleep was not something he needed to apologise for as soon as they've woken.

If Jarvis had been entirely honest, he would've told his stray that even when the younger man's body warmth was almost too much for comfort, he could never bring himself to pull away, both strangely endeared and touched by the way Anthony subconsciously trusted him that much - and the fact that this kind of physical affection was new to Jarvis surely played a role in that, too.

It was also Anthony who, straight-forward as he was, initiated many a goodnight kiss, even waking Jarvis with a kiss once he learned what a brilliant smile the blond would give him after that.

They both became used to each other, comfortable with the other's physical presence, and it came as a surprise to Jarvis when, without any warning whatsoever, Anthony's whole demeanor changed in the blink of an eye.

The Earl has a hand on the other's nude chest, having leaned over Anthony to kiss him when noticing that the younger man has tensed suddenly beneath him. Surely Anthony's heartbeat could have quickened for a myriad of reasons, but the way he starts taking short, far too quick breaths and his eyes have widened enough to give the boy a deep look of alarm didn't seem good.

Jarvis stills. For a moment, the master bedroom is silent except for their breathing, Anthony’s considerably quicker than Jarvis’ own, and when the Earl reaches out to touch the boy’s cheek, his fingers come away damp – which startles the noble, but before he can move away, Anthony is grabbing his shoulders, his grip tight and slightly desperate.

“No,” he says, voice rough and pleading.

“Anthony –“

“No, I can, it’s fine, I can, nevermind me, I’m sorry, it’s nothing, please, Jarvis–” The words tumble out, almost stumbling all over themselves, and Jarvis is confused for a moment, not understanding what is going on and what Anthony is asking of him.

“Shh,” the Earl goes instead, like shushing a scared animal, and Anthony’s hold on his shoulder loosens enough for Jarvis to sit up and pull his stray up into a hug. The sniff that escapes Anthony feels like its actively tearing Jarvis’ heart apart, and he can’t help the worry creeping into his voice. “What is going on?”

All the answer he gets is Anthony shaking his head, gasping softly into Jarvis’ shoulders, overwhelmed by his own reaction and the panic bubbling in him along with it. This should not have happened, not with Jarvis.

Anthony sobs a breath, and then tries to move in to kiss Jarvis again, but the Earl doesn’t respond to the boy’s lips on his (accompanied by the taste of salt), which frankly only makes it worse. Of course, Anthony can’t give up, can’t let it end like this – but it’s hard to kiss someone when you’re busy sobbing and inwardly panicking, so when Jarvis draws back, there’s nothing Anthony can do but heave another, pained breath.

“Stop it, Anthony,” Jarvis says, and his voice is both gentle and concerned, the Earl lightly stroking his stray’s head.

“But – but I can’t –“

A profound feeling of helplessness washes over Jarvis as Anthony begins shaking in his arms, and out of ideas he starts humming a nursery song’s melody. At the end of the second verse, Anthony’s quieted down, his shaking reduced to the occasional shiver.  
“Are you alright, Anthony?”

“Fine,” comes the reply, though Anthony doesn’t sound as sure of himself as he’d like to. Jarvis has to suppress a sigh, ruffling his stray’s hair.

“What happened back there?”

There’s a pause in reply to that, and Jarvis feels a twist in his stomach at the way Anthony resolutely refuses to look at him, obviously preferring to keep mumbling into the Earl’s shoulder.

“Won’t happen again.”

“Anthony…” Jarvis pulls back this time, trying to stare Anthony down – the boy gets twitchy when there’s silence, so he eventually looks up, but the way his eyes are puffy and red makes it impossible for Jarvis to keep up the stern look, his expression immediately softening. “Please, Anthony, speak to me.”

Silence meets his plea and the Earl almost resigns himself to it. There is so much more here, and much as he may hate to admit it, he is almost afraid to hear the answer. Because he has a sneaking, horrible suspicion of what the answer would be.

It's an effort to swallow back the lump that has taken up sudden residence in his throat. The look on Anthony's face makes his heart break and the blond reaches out, movements carefully broadcast, to pull the other close to his chest. "Anthony, shh, you don't have to force yourself."

In response, Anthony bites his lower lips hard enough to draw blood, the taste of metal on his tongue accompanied by a wave of overwhelming guilt. He hates that Jarvis sounds so worried, simply because he is weak, simply because he isn’t good enough, hates the shaking in his limbs, but can't stop himself from leaning into those warm arms. Jarvis is no longer looming over him and Anthony wants to curse the lingering fear that had seized him before.

"I trust you," the boy mumbles, looking pained as he does, "I really, really do, please don't believe - don't even think that I, that I wouldn't - this, this was stupid. I don't know why," and he breaks off, balking at the prospect of putting his failing into words, because that's what it feels like - failure. Disappointment.

As if that could be enough to make Jarvis believe that the boy did not trust him. "You've proven your trust time and again." He rubs a cheek against the dark curls, pressing a kiss against his stray’s crown. "Anthony, you don't have to--" Words simply fail him, how can he claim to understand, because he doesn't. He never will. "It's not stupid," he says instead, fiercely. "And when you're ready to tell me," if you are ever ready, "I will listen. I will not judge."

Anthony huffs, shaking his head a little. “How is it not stupid? You’re the best man I’ve ever met, and I just – I don’t know what I’m doing but this is not – you should not have to deal with this. It’s, it’s not fair.”

He pauses, long enough only to take a deep breath. “I should be better than that. You deserve–“  
Anthony can’t say it, it hurts too much to even think.

No, this is unacceptable. Jarvis pulls back, caging Anthony's face between his hands. "No, do not even think that. I don't-- I know so little about you before you came into my home. Nor can I claim to understand what that life is like, but do not think for a moment that the scars you bear are stupid or silly."

He takes a deep breath, willing himself to find the calm he so usually carried so easily. "I will be the judge of whether you are unworthy of my affections. And I-- I love you. Whatever-- whatever happened, it matters. And I am here for you."

It’s difficult to do anything but stare at Jarvis after that, Anthony finding himself caught in the Earl’s gaze before he smiles hesitantly. How could he not smile after that? He leans forward, briefly putting his lips on Jarvis’ nose, because that is easier than saying thank you right now.

“I was hungry,” he offers eventually, shrugging, “of course, that was a permanent occurrence, but – I got desperate.” The boy shudders, frowning at the unpleasant memories, clutching at Jarvis again. “I’m not – sure I can do this.”

The picture that Tony begins to paint breaks his heart anew. But he knows enough to not show pity for the life the other has led. For lack of anything else to do the young noble rubs his hands up and down Tony's back in a display of comfort. "You do not have to push yourself, Anthony," despite his resolve his smile is sad. "As I said, you can tell me when you're ready. "

"Do you want me to tell you?" Anthony asks, not liking how insecure he sounds, frowning at his own voice. At least the way the Earl touches him feels calming, grounding the boy into even breaths despite all the mortification and shame. "I mean, in all honesty, Jarvis - it feels like I'll never be ready."

"Anthony," He looks into the boy's eyes, refusing to flinch away. "I will not force you to tell me. Perhaps telling someone will help, perhaps not. But I will not force you, and if you tell me you do not want to tell me I will never bring this up again."

Every instinct in Anthony wants to flinch away from this clear, blue gaze, but the boy swallows and looks right back into Jarvis' face instead. "Really?" He takes a moment to take a breath, two, wetting his lips. "This doesn't-- bother you? That, that it happened, and that I can't--"

Full sentences seem incredibly difficult to form right now.

This time when Jarvis smiles there is only love and affection in his eyes. He allows himself the luxury of brushing back some of the boy's curls, finishing with a brush of lips against his temple following the trail of his fingers. "No, it does not bother nor disgust me. You are still my Anthony. My lovely, beautiful stray. Sappy as that affection may sound. Nothing you do or have done would change that."

Anthony tells himself that he will absolutely not cry even as his vision goes blurry and he has to start blinking quicker, bringing up a hand to rub at his eyes. There are a million ways he could profess his love in this very moment, but every word catches on his tongue. "You're not a sensible man," he ends up saying, a short, almost startled laughter escaping him.

Jarvis smiles and leans forward. "Most people would agree with you." The Earls’ heart clenches when his kiss onto the boy’s cheek lets him taste tears, but he doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it. Anthony needs him right now.

"Come, Anthony, don’t worry. Let’s just lie down and sleep, yes? "

A small smile, and Anthony nods, cuddling into the noble’s chest with no hesitation. The gesture lets relief wash over Jarvis, who for one moment feared the other wouldn’t be comfortable being so close to him right now, and it doesn’t take long for sleep to overtake him.

Anthony lies wide awake for a while after that, his hand pressed lightly to Jarvis’ chest, listening to the sounds of the other’s breathing while feeling the Earl’s heartbeat under his palm. If he sheds a couple tears in the dark, no one’s any the wiser for it.


	21. Chapter 21

Formal servant wear, Anthony decides quickly, is  _stupid._

The unfamiliar clothes feel strange, stiff and itchy on his skin, but every time he reaches out to scratch at his side or his chest, Sharon throws him this  _look_  with scary accuracy. She’s currently straightening his outfit out, and apparently knows exactly how and when he’s going to move before he even thinks of moving - which means all Anthony can do is shift from one foot to the other and suppress any actual sighing he would like to do right now. It seems to take  _forever_  until the woman straightens, pats him on the shoulder with a small smile and says "off you go, boy."

Anthony has waited for that, smiles in return and takes off, almost colliding with Jarvis in his haste to get to the earl’s chambers – said earl is just exciting those very chambers, and as opposed to Anthony, he looks perfectly at home in formal wear. The blue of his suit compliments his eyes very nicely, Anthony catches himself thinking, and after a quick look back and forth the hallway, he draws the other in by his lapels, pressing a chaste, quick kiss on the blond’s lips. It surprises Jarvis, but only because Anthony took the kiss before he could himself.

"Happy birthday, Jarvis," he whispers, and smiles widely, letting go of the other, "I know that wasn't very discreet, but it's a special occasion, right?"

 “Not terribly discreet, no. But I find I not care, after all it  _is_  my birthday. I believe I should be given some leeway to indulge.” He smiles down at the boy and has to bite back a chuckle at the sight of his stray in the formal uniform of his house.

"How long did Sharon force you to stand still while she fussed with your uniform?" He knew how much of a perfectionist the woman could be when it came to these sorts of functions. Jarvis could admit to himself that first the time in years he was viewing his birthday party with more excitement than usual. Anthony would be there, and it meant so much. Even though the boy had to attend under the pretense of service rather than by his side like he would prefer.

"At least half an eternity," Anthony replies to the question with a small laugh, opening his arms, "how do I look? Was it worth standing still for?"

It had definitely been worth standing still for. The uniform was fitted to the boy precisely and it showed. The earl forced his wandering thoughts back to the subject at hand. It wouldn’t do to get caught out daydreaming when he had to play the host.

Jarvis looks genuinely happy and it is contagious, lets Anthony forget for a moment the disaster that was last night. The boy can’t allow himself to think back on it for the risk of his smile freezing dead on his face - today is Jarvis’ birthday, and he can’t be all that Jarvis deserves—

—but he spent enough hours today fretting and moping about this, now it’s the earl’s party, and it’s time to put those feelings aside for the moment.  _It’s Jarvis,_ Anthony tells himself,  _we’ll figure it out._

"I would offer you my arm but that would probably be inappropriate," the young man quips, and folds his hands behind his back like Elias so often does instead. "Shall we?"

"Oh certainly inappropriate, especially as you have yet to offer me a bow. Pity it would be inappropriate for you to fill my dance card as well." Although he suspected that dancing with Anthony would only lead to smashed toes. Nevertheless he keeps the fantasy in his mind as he follows after his stray.

"I can bow to you if you want to," Anthony graciously allows, sporting a smile, "but you shouldn’t get used to it. That would be something you’d get because it’s your birthday. I wish you a nice  _fête_ , m’lord.”

Anthony opens the door to the ballroom, actually bowing as the other walks past him.

The bow has the earl nearly grinning as he enters the ballroom. Thankfully everyone else simply assumes that the expression is meant as welcome for them. Pepper sweeps up to him, eyes taking in Tony’s presence to the side of the doorway and she has to fight back her own smile at the secret she can see.

"My lord," she demures. "A wonderful fete as usual."

"Oh, we both know I cannot take the credit, Lady Potts." She only smiles at that and they both turn their attentions towards the other guests.

Anthony  _likes_  parties, he decides relatively quickly, but he’d like them better if the people on it weren’t all collective snots. With some rare exceptions. And also, if he could actually be  _in_  it instead of just running along the sidelines.

Elias hardly has to make a peep for him to jump up and do whatever is required to do, for he finds himself with entirely too much energy, and nowhere to really put it. It’s Jarvis’  _birthday_  and Anthony is excited as if it was his own, sneaking looks at the Earl and catching him smiling more often than not.

Jarvis can’t be mad at what happened last night, not with how he looks during an event Anthony knows the Earl isn’t fond of, and maybe tonight he can— 

The thought lets his cheeks colour and he turns, carrying red wine across the room, which went fine the last three times he did - only this time, he walks straight into one of the ladies, already halfway through an apology when he notices he spilled the deep red wine all over her once bright-yellow dress.

The silence is loud, glaringly replacing the raucous strains of the party with a deafening blanket. “Oh my,” Jarvis drags his eyes towards the sight that had captured Lady van Dyne’s attention. It takes a moment for the the dread to catch up with what he sees. Of all the people for this to happen with it just had to be the Lady Sofen.

"Excuse me, my Lady," he did not bother to linger long enough to hear whatever Janet might say, turning to make his way across the ballroom. His guests parted around him, whispers filling the hall as everyone watched to see how the drama would play out.  _Bloody vultures_ , he thinks uncharitably. Thankfully Pepper was moving in just as quickly.

Anthony can only stand there, dumbfounded and slightly horrified,  _oh god what did I do_ , while a hush falls around the scene that rapidly spreads along the room.

The Lady looks like she’s another forgotten breath away from fainting, and Anthony half wishes  _he’d_  faint. Only when he raises his head to connect his gaze with Jarvis’ does he wake from his stupor, his whole body flinching. “My— my Lord, I’m so sorry—”

"Pardon me, Lady Sofen," Pepper says as she reaches the scene. If anything, the other woman looked even more apoplectic than before. "If you would follow me we have rooms where you might freshen up."

"Do not bother," Sofen snaps. "My dress is ruined!" She looks ready to create quite a scene, and the rest of the guests are more than eager to see one. Simply because Jarvis must tolerate a great many of these people in his home, does not mean he must indulge in their whims.

"Forgive me, Lady Sofen." Thankfully all it takes to defuse the tantrum is a hand on the lady’s elbow as he steers her away to a less central part of the room, a glance over to Pepper is all that is needed for her to receive the message and turn to dispel the crowd. "I will provide compensation for your gown." When she sniffs he knows he has to add the next part. "And the serving boy will be punished, I can assure you milady." He doesn’t look back at Anthony, he can’t look back because he will have be seen giving the boy a lecture.

Tonight would not be easy.

Anthony doesn’t have to pretend for all the blood to leave his face, inwardly swearing. He puts down the rest of the wine on the nearest table, his fingers shaking, and wanting to go back to being invisible, please— the eyes on him make his skin crawl, and when he looks up at Pepper - who managed to convince their guests that there’s no more excitement to be had from standing around staring - there’s something like pity in her eyes.

It doesn’t help, that look, and even worse is that Pepper isn’t saying anything, no single word to dispel the young man’s slowly rising panic. “Sh-shall I go apologize to Lady Sofen?” he asks in a low voice, and Pepper’s lips twitch. “Maybe after.”

_After what?_

But Anthony doesn’t get to ask, since that is the moment Jarvis returns to them and he and Pepper share a look, silently communicating. Pepper puts her hand briefly on the Earl’s biceps, then rushes off to busy herself with the offended Lady.

Anthony hates  _everything_ , raising his eyes to meet Jarvis’ blue ones - and looking away almost immediately again. There is steel in Jarvis’ gaze, and Anthony fervently wishes the ground would open and swallow him whole, already fighting tears of frustration.

There had never been anything Jarvis had ever wanted to do less. If anyone had any mercy they would grant him his most sincere birthday wish and allow he and Anthony to simply disappear from the room and away from those of his peers who expected a show. And normally he could have gotten away with shuffling the servant over to Sharon or Elias, but the Lady Karla Sofen was a formidable opponent and if he didn’t do something to sooth her ire she could create much more trouble.

He indicates that Anthony should follow him with a tilt of his head. A quick reprimand, surely that would be enough, and then he can ask Sharon to take care of the boy.

"Anthony," he begins, and then hesitates. Anthony had not really done anything wrong. But… he knows Karla is listening. He makes his eyes harden and opens his mouth to begin when they are interrupted.

"Tut tut, Jarvis. Your footman really needs to vet your household better. Allowing so clumsy a serving boy out among the guests." His eyes flick over to see Loki lounging languidly against the door frame. He raises his glass in a mocking toast, lips curved in that smirk of his. "Such a shame about Lady Sofen’s dress, I heard she paid a hefty sum to have it sewn. Only the best for Karla, naturally."

Jarvis’s lips roll down and he nods. “Indeed, a gross oversight on my part to not be clear on the standards required of my household.” His attention turns back to Anthony, and he has to steel himself for what he says next. “However, I will have to pay a great sum to the Lady in recompense. The boy may be clumsy but he now owes me a debt and I intend to collect on it. Pity I cannot trust you with more responsibility, a demotion simply means I will be forced to keep you in my employ even longer to pay back that dress.”

Loki looks amused and Jarvis has to wonder why he bothered to befriend the man in the first place. But he had helped him, and that was really all that mattered at the moment. A quick movement of his head and Elias is by his side. “Get the boy out of sight, and I expect an explanation of how you could let your standards slip so far.” It’s all exceptionally dramatic; hopefully it’s enough to unruffle a certain noblewoman’s feathers (and keep the watchmen from his door).

Time slows, then seems to grind to a painful halt. Anthony’s eyes grow into something that looks anxious and scared, a look fixed on Jarvis, only a passing glance meeting Loki - and then Elias it as his side, wordlessly tugging him out of the room.

Loki takes the opportunity to throw a smirk in the hapless Stray’s direction before he follows his friend back to the ballroom.

"Happy birthday to me," Jarvis murmurs just before he is swept back up in the crowd of people he would now prefer be gone entirely.

His feet feel heavy and Anthony feels numb.  _He now owes me a debt._  Why that should be the part that shocked him the most, Anthony couldn’t say - it was ridiculous, at any case. When he’s finally standing outside of the ballroom he’s tempted to laugh, but instead he starts crying, hot tears slipping down his cheeks.

Elias is obviously uncomfortable. “Anthony…”

"Bugger," Anthony sighs, voice laced with suppressed anger, and wipes at his eyes, "I should have started crying in there. Elias, could you go let Earl Friggason know that the stray is sobbing in a corner? He’ll have no qualms about announcing it loud enough that the Lady Sofen will no doubt learn of it."

The servant blinks, surprise obvious on his face, but then he nods, and Anthony nods back - stiffly, but he does - and takes off, taking the stairs two steps at once.

He’s got something to do, and later he needs to show Jarvis something.

Whatever joy Jarvis might have taken from the party is gone, gone as surely as his stray was from the ballroom. The hours dragged, his muscles straining from the pleasant facade he was forced to keep. He suspected that only those few close to him were able to see through his faux joy.

The party’s end could not come too soon, and though he felt guilty to admit it, he was glad to see the last of the guests leave. Pepper lingered as the last of the carriages rolled away, looking up at the Earl in concern. For her he was able to summon one last smile. “Do not worry about him, Loki saw to it that Karla felt thoroughly satisfied with Anthony’s _punishment_.” And it appeared that he would have to buy his friend a good bottle of brandy in thanks.

She still looked uncertain. “That’s not what I’m worried about.” Ah, there the mask cracks. The bland look on his face is gone and the expression he’s wearing— Pepper takes an aborted step forward, but knows that the way he is feeling he will not appreciate the gesture. “Go home, Miss Potts,” the whisper is almost too low for her to hear, but the message is clear as he turns away and disappears into the depths of his home.

Just as he suspected there is light leaking from beneath the door in his study. The well-oiled hinges make only a whisper of a sound as it opens, the young earl’s eyes instantly fall on the figure curled up in a chair and he hesitates.

"I— I did not mean anything I said. I— I can explain. Will you let me explain?"

Anthony sits in the Earl’s chair again, though  _sitting_ might be a bit of an overstatement - he has his feet on the chair, his arms wound around his legs, and his head on his knees. When he looks up at Jarvis, his eyes are red-rimmed, but the look he wears is of one that has already cried enough and doesn’t intend to start again.

"I know," he mutters, and unwinds from his position, standing and walking over to the other, offering up a couple parchments with what looks like scribbles and drawings on it.

"I, um, designed this," the boy begins, and feels his cheeks colouring, "I meant to try and build it, too— but I never got around to it, and so I thought, I thought maybe— maybe you could have it built in one of your factories instead. And if there’s profit, well, keep it— it’s a machine to wash clothes."

Something he started scribbling about when he was tied to bed and got his finger’s on a fat scholar’s book, written by some Dr. Foster. The mechanics and possibilities of energy-use described in there were fascinating, and inspiring.

Of course, there was also the motivation of  _never_  having to help Sharon wash again. It’s incredibly boring, tedious work.

"Whether or not you meant it— you were right. I was clumsy, distracted, and that shouldn’t have happened, surely not on your birthday."

Tony’s actions make no sense at first. What was he doing? It took Jarvis interminably long minutes to catch onto the implications. When he does he takes a step back, staring down at the blueprints as if they might bite him. “That’s not. Anthony, I can’t— it wouldn’t be right, taking your designs like that.  _You_ should take the credit, not me.”

"What do you mean?" Anthony had such a clear way of action, and then Jarvis comes and says  _no?_  “I couldn’t take the credit, I don’t have the means. And it’s hardly my place—  _look, this nobody designed a machine because he’s too lazy to wash his master’s clothes!_ Like that would go over well?”

This wasn’t right, this wasn’t what Jarvis wanted. “Anthony, you don’t understand!” Desperation was clear. “That woman was— she is influential, vindictive, and petty when she gets a mind to it. Especially if she feels like she has something to prove. And in front of an audience like that, trust me she felt like she had something to prove. I  _refuse_  to allow her to send the watch after you for some imagined slight at a later date. What I did—”  _Was disgusting and reprehensible._ The self-loathing was strong at the fresh memories of hours before. “It was the only way to stop her from coming after you.”  _As it was Loki did the most at saving you._

The earl wanted to scream. “Anthony, you don’t owe me anything. Anymore than Elias owed me for dumping cake on the Baron of Eathridge.

"Anthony," he steps forward, reaching up to cup the boy’s face. "My stray, please, listen. This… I did not mean a word I said down there. Please believe me. You did nothing wrong."

But Anthony has his hands balled into fists, frustration welling up inside of him, and Anthony takes a step backwards, out of Jarvis’ reach. “I’ve had enough of not being good enough, of causing you all kinds of trouble because I’m being stupid, or clumsy, or I simply don’t know my place— Elias let it slip once, you know, that you let me get off easy, that I never actually paid off the entire debt in the first place. Do you have any idea what I thought, when you told me about another debt?”

Anthony raises his gaze, then, meeting the Earl’s eyes defiantly. “I thought I should empty  _her_  safe and have her be paid with her own money, without you knowing. What do you see in me? Don’t you see— I’m not a good person, I have lied and stolen for most of my life, I’m damaged, and I should be invisible to you, should be nothing— I shouldn’t be here, what use am I to you?”

His voice cracks at the end, such a horribly embarrassing sound, and Anthony presses his palms to his eyes when he feels the tears welling up again.  _No, not in front of him, please_.

It appeared Jarvis would be having words with Elias about letting slip secrets in the near future. But Anthony was right. It’s tempting to not even dignify Anthony’s assertion about his questionable morality with a response. But that isn’t fair and would only lead to more misunderstandings. “It’s a tempting offer. Paying her back with her own money. Make certain not to mention that in front of Friggasson, he’d love the idea,” a sigh. “Anthony, you’re not a terrible person for doing what you had to to survive. And I think I’ve mentioned before that I should be the judge of your worthiness to me.”

He gives up with a sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat. “You’re right,” the words are pulled from him reluctantly and he holds out a hand. “Give me those blueprints, I will see what I can do with them. But do not think that I won’t still credit you if we produce anything. My company has a reputation to maintain as being honest.”

It takes everything he has not to snatch the papers from the boy’s hands. But he has enough to control to take them calmly, unfolding the paper to look over the designs. They’re… good. It takes only one look to see the skill and intelligence behind the lines. It’s enough to derail the anger and sadness that had been broiling beneath the surface.

The breath whooshes from his lungs. “I can have Lady Potts draw up a standard contract. She’ll know I didn’t come up with the idea, trust me on this.”

"Jarvis," Anthony wipes at his eyes, trying to get himself back under control, which is easier said than done. He sniffles, comes to stand in front of the earl, then takes the papers from Jarvis’ hands to place them on the desk and hugs the blond, clinging inappropriately for some long heartbeats.

A couple tears land in Jarvis’ shirt during the process, but it’s probably save to say that neither of them cares.

"I love you, but— but I need to get out of here." Anthony draws back, aware that he needs to say this quickly, before his voice catches and dies in his throat. "Sorry, I, I know I’m asking for a lot, but could I start working in your factory?"  _I need to prove to myself that I’m worth something by myself, that I can do something worthwhile by myself, that I am more than a burden to you._

"It’s— I just can’t be your pity case anymore, it’s driving me nuts. Maybe— some space would be good." He can’t look at Jarvis when he says the last phrase, aware that he’s being so cruel, and not wanting to know how much that hurt Jarvis.

The words are like a punch to the gut. ‘ _can’t be your pity case anymore’_. It’s all the earl can do to bite back what might be a whimper of pain. As it is the sound tangles up in the back of his throat with something that feels suspiciously like tears. It takes a long moment to find his words again as he fights back the lump in his throat.

Despite his best efforts, when he does manage to find the strength to answer his voice is hoarse from everything that is going unsaid. “I— understand.”  _You love me, but you don’t want me._  “I— I’ll arrange it with Pep— Miss Potts when I give her… your blueprints.” He should commend himself for even managing the sentence. “I will have someone help you with the move tomorrow.”

No, he won’t cry right now. Not in front of Anthony. This was his choice, and hadn’t he always said that he never try to control the boy? “I am assuming you’ll want to live in dorm’s attached to the factory. My home is too far away to be… practical.” Oh but how he doesn’t want Anthony to leave. He would happily pay for the hansom to take the boy to work everyday if need be. But he had said he wanted space. “Or…” He can’t finish it.

"Right. Ah, I find I am quite tired, Anthony. I— will seek my bed. I wish you a good night." He is not proud of it, but after somehow finding the strength to say all that he flees the study, a place that holds too many memories now.

The message seems pretty clear, a door getting shut in Anthony’s face, and the younger man opens his mouth, knowing he didn’t want  _that_  - but no word makes it past his lips to express that, and he just swallows his confusion instead.

"I— wish you a good night."

He doesn’t try to stop Jarvis leaving the room, standing in the study for quite some time afterwards, rubbing at his chest, which has started to ache oddly, too reluctant to return to  _his_  rooms, where he hasn’t slept for the last weeks.

He’ll move tomorrow. Jarvis said so. And really, Anthony should try get some sleep, he’ll need to be rested in the morn… but even when he  _does_  return to his chambers, he spends the time in bed staring up at the canopy, ignoring as good as he can the tears burning in his eyes, and feeling deeply, desperately lost.

Sleep does not come to Jarvis that night, either. He suspects there will be many sleepless nights in his future. His room seems… empty without Anthony. Jarvis slumps in front of the fire and hugs himself against the cold. How silly he had been to think that this would work. Perhaps it was a good thing that Anthony had realised that Jarvis was not worth the secrets and scrutiny.

But it still hurt.

_I should be thankful that I would not be hurting the man I love._

Jarvis loses the battle against his tears at that thought, huddling in the chair before the fire like he had not since the night his parents had died. He was alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No I'm not crying I've just got those two being idiots in my eye. (Next up: the fabulous James "Rhodey" Rhodes. Stay tuned.)


	22. Chapter 22

James Rhodes is a lucky man. He’s been told so often enough, even while hanging over the railing and fighting seasickness. Of course, he is aware that the opportunity to return to England, when he’s been shipped off to the colonies to serve the Empire, is a gift horse you don’t want to look in the mouth, and to be  _alive_  to do so is no small matter, either.

Still, the next person who tells him so while he feels bile raising up in his throat is getting punched.

It doesn’t come to that, and James is led off the boat at a port in London with slightly wobbly knees and the vague threat of “you’re going to be sent out again in four weeks, Rhodes, and God help you if you don’t turn up”.

He just nods, not really concerned. Being on time for the next more or less involuntary boat trip is not the first thing on his priority list - the first thing is  _find Anthony_ , closely followed by  _make sure Anthony is okay_.

Anthony and James have survived on the London streets side by side from a young age, and James  _always_  had to stop the other from getting into trouble, or getting himself killed.

It’s fair to say he’s got reason to be concerned, and James carries the worry around with him as a weight on his shoulders, checking all of their hide-outs, asking the homeless he comes across. He gets shrugs in response, if they’re feeling nice.

After two days of walking until his feet felt raw and no single sign of Anthony, worry culminates into some sort of desperation, and it’s like that that he comes across a beautiful redhead Lady one Sunday morning.

He greets her, unthinkingly, and would’ve walked past her if not for her gaze - definitely an approving one, that makes him feel oddly self-conscious. But instead of fluttering away nervously as Ladies are wont to do when caught staring at dark-skinned men (even soldiers), she looks at his face, raising an elegant eyebrow.

"It is a good morning," she replies to his greeting, "but you look like something crawled into your breakfast bowl."

Clearly an invitation to spill his soul, and James scratches vaguely at his neck. “Ah, it’s nothing, Ma’am. I’m just looking for my friend, Anthony.”

"Anthony," she repeats, raising a second eyebrow to join her first, "what’s your name, and what’s your friends?"

"James Rhodes, ma’am, looking for Anthony Stark." It’s curious she asks, but James would’ve written it off as simple curiosity if not for the look she was giving him - and the way she smiled, widely, when he mentioned Anthony’s full name.

"I believe I can help you."

A beautiful Lady in a flowing dress just told him she could help him find his orphan friend. James didn’t believe her.

But he realises he  _should have_  when he goes to investigate the factory he’s been pointed towards (“I’m looking for Anthony Stark” actually got him entrance) and in there, in between curious machinery, is Anthony, head bowed low over something James doesn’t recognise, tongue poking out at the side of his mouth, smiling absently.

There were so many scenarios, horrible deaths, illnesses, injuries in James’ head, that to see his friend looking  _happy_  is kind of a shock, and he stands there for a couple of minutes, watching Anthony work with deft fingers.

"Anthony," he eventually calls out, big brown eyes blinking at him before recognition flits across Anthony’s face, followed by disbelief. There’s a clatter of equipment and Anthony’s face splits into a grin so wide it’s worrying. "Rhodey!" He basically scrambles over his work pile to get to the other, which to James just looks both unnecessary and  _dangerous_ , but before he can do anything about it, he’s got an armful of Anthony, and then he’s laughing, busy hugging the other back.

"You’re back! You’re in one piece! Right? I think you’ve still got both legs—" Anthony briefly draws back to check over the number of James’ limbs, then goes back to hugging him almost immediately, "—still got both legs, still alive, god, I missed you, you dumb jerk!"

"I missed you too, idiot."

"Wow, I can’t believe this, this is  _awesome_ , tell me I’m not dreaming, you’re looking fine by the way—”

Anthony wastes no time to subject his best friend to babble on how he’s doing “fine, really, don’t worry, I got regular meals now!” and to James, the other’s smile when he talks about how he’s “working on an engine for calculating mathematical and astronomical tables, it’ll be  _revolutionary_ " is absolutely contagious.

What with their mutual excitement, it takes James a little while to catch on to the fact that whenever Anthony doesn’t talk about his work, a shadow falls across his face, and his smile when he says he sleeps in an actual bed looks just a little forced…

"Alright, and what  _aren’t_  you telling me?”

An owlish look. “What?”

"You’re not fooling me. Something’s the matter."

Anthony sighs, worrying his lower lip. “It’s a long story,” he offers, clearly attempting to deflect, but James is having absolutely none of that.

"I’ve got time."

They lock gazes then, a silent staring battle, which Anthony loses when he looks away with a huff.

"I was taken in by this noble, y’know? Earl Thompson of Aitherton."

"That was nice of him," James says, softly, trying to coax more out of the other, and Anthony chuckles a bit.

"Yeah." A pause, then the words come rushed out: "Hesaidhelovedme."

James blinks, taking that in, pulling the words apart. He’s half tempted to ask the other to repeat himself, but from the way Anthony is studiously avoiding his gaze, that doesn’t seem a smart move.

"That wasn’t a very long story."

Anthony raises his gaze again then, to scowl at his friend. “Very funny.”

"What happened? Did he hurt you? You know I’ll walk up to him and punch him if he did anything."

That makes Anthony smile, again, though weakly. “That would be stupid, Rhodey, he’s an Earl. And anyways— he’s too good to hurt anyone, he was good to me.”

Deflating a little, James steps forward, placing a hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “Well, whatever it was, I’m here for you, okay?”

"Thank you. And it’s complicated—"

"What in the bloody brazes is going on here?"

James swivels around, coming face to face with a man that is smaller than him, with his hair sticking up weirdly, an unlit cigar in his mouth and one impressive glare going on.

"Hello, Mr Logan, Sir," Anthony quips, tilting his head to look around James - and promptly gets the glare treatment himself, though it doesn’t seem to worry him.

"Bub," Logan almost growls, pointing at Anthony, "you’ve got two hours left before you’ve earned your day’s keep, get back to your bloody machines, and  _you_ ,” and Logan turns to stab James in the chest with his finger, ignoring Anthony’s cheerful  _"aye, aye, capt’n"_  in favour of glaring at the stranger, “bub, get out of here if you don’t wanna work.” _  
_

The factory manager stalks off before James has even uttered a single word, and the soldier is slightly bemused by the treatment, turning back to Tony, who’s resumed chattering.

"Howlett. My boss, I guess, calls everyone bub, I still have no bloody clue what that even  _means_ , and I swear he’s always grumpy during the day because he can’t bring his beer or smoke his cigar in the factory, good guy though, gives me lots of room. Is it okay with you when we meet outside in two hours? He’s right, I should get back to work, if I do it now I might be able to finish a prototype…”

With that, Tony turns back to walk over to his worktable, muttering completely incomprehensible things under his breath. James is not actually sure Tony hears him when he says “Sure, see you later, Anthony”, but the other gives an absent wave in reply, which James takes as his cue to leave the factory.

He stands outside for a while, part of him unable to believe how much things have  _changed_. The last time he saw Anthony, he looked like a boy, frail, too thin, and constantly on edge.

Now, Anthony had become something you could hug without feeling like you’re going to break him apart if you press too tightly, and though his build was still pretty wiry, it was undeniable Anthony had gotten some strength in his arms, and it showed when James watched him work before.

Looking at the factory chimneys smoking faintly, James smiles to himself. “Good,” he murmurs, and almost feels a little lighter, knowing that things are going well for Tony.

By the time Anthony walks out of the factory, it’s  _definitely_ been longer than two hours, and James points it out as diligently as every best friend would: “You’re late. Don’t blame me if your chips got cold.”

He offers the bag of chips to Anthony, who lightens up at the sight, and throws some chips in his mouth immediately, talking and chewing simultaneously. “ _Awesome_. Oh, those taste good! You’ve got money now!” Anthony laughs, then wipes his mouth, sobering up.

"I’ve got money, too," he informs the other, "you shouldn’t spend yours on me."

"Shut up," James replies easily, "I want to."

Anthony narrows his eyes at the other, obviously gearing up to be stubborn about this, but then his stomach growls. Loudly. James just raises an eyebrow, holding the bag out again - and Anthony admits defeat, accepting it, happily starting to gobble.

"I’ve got a room not far from here, wanna bunk over tonight?"

"Oh," James blinks, not having thought of that, "sure, that sounds fine. Thank you."

"Cool! The bed’s not meant for two people, but, you know, body warmth."

Chuckling, James shakes his head, falling into step next to Anthony, and accepting the occasional cold chip offered to him. It feels nostalgic, sharing food like that.

"Now tell me the story of you and your earl."

"I stole from him—"

"You stole from the noble that  _took you in?_ ”

"No, no!" Anthony laughs, punching James’ shoulder lightly, "what do you think I am, stupid? You’ve got this completely the wrong way around— he caught me stealing from him. That’s how we  _met_.”

"Jesus Christ, Anthony."

"Blasphemies already?" Anthony grins a sharp grin. "Just you wait, it gets better—"

By the time Anthony has finished the story, they’re already in his room - up the stairs in a building that Anthony confided the Earl of Aitherton lets a lot of his workers use who don’t have their own home and family obligations,  _"but this isn’t charity. I earn this room every day in the factory."_  - a small, but comfortable place, despite the fact that the furniture is very spare. There’s a bed, a bedside table with only one book on it (not a bible; James checked), a wardrobe hidden away in the wall, and two windows.

"—and then he shipped me out the next day, and here I am."

Anthony reaches up to scratch vaguely at his neck, obviously not comfortable with having laid himself so  _bare_ , even if it’s in front of Rhodey.

"Anthony…"

"Don’t tell me you pity me, or that I’ve been an idiot and did everything wrong, Rhodes. I couldn’t— I couldn’t take that, not from you."

The single light bulb in the room, over their heads, is just giving off enough light for James to see the signs of his friend fighting tears, so instead of saying anything to that, he just steps over and pulls Anthony in a hug.

"I’m proud of you, you know," he says, even as Anthony sniffles into his shoulder, "you’re working, you have a roof over your head and the means to feed yourself, you did this all by yourself, and it’s great. No matter what happened before."

Anthony stills against him, mumbling only a slightly choked  _thank you_  into James’ collarbone.

"Now come on, let’s get to bed. You’re gonna need to go to work tomorrow."

_And I’ve got an Earl to visit._


	23. Chapter 23

The next day Rhodey walks back to the factory with Anthony, and if the way he happily chatters away the entire walk, sleeping while poking his elbow uncomfortably into Rhodey’s rib cage has put Anthony in an  _excellent_  mood.

When Anthony waves him good bye and wishes Rhodey  _"fun with your soldier stuff"_  while winking (no doubt thinking James is gonna spend the day flexing his arms at passing ladies), Rhodey just rolls his eyes, and once Anthony disappears behind the factory doors, turns to retrace his steps from the day before to where he met the Lady Potts.

She was on foot, the Earl of Aitherton’s residence can’t be far from there.

And Rhodey is right with that. He only has to ask for directions once -  _"right ‘round the corner, mate. It’s bloody massive, you can’t miss it"_  - and then he’s standing in front of a building that’s intimidating by size alone. For a moment he just looks at it, wondering how desperate Anthony must’ve been to pick this as a place to steal a loaf of bread, and then he walks up to the front door, knocking.

The door gets opened by a man whose hair is painted with streaks of grey, and Rhodey offers a winning smile. “You are Elias, right?”

For a moment, the other just blinks at him, obviously unsure how to reply, before nodding his head. “Yes. Who are you?”

"Second Lieutenant James Rhodes, Sir. I am wishing for a word with the Earl of Aitherton."

More blinks, definitely confused now - Rhodey doesn’t blame Elias, really. Some officer in training turning up out of nowhere wanting to talk with the (if Anthony’s information was accurate) pacifistic Lord seems more than a little strange.

"My Lord is a busy man," Elias eventually replies, clearly rebuffing Rhodey.  _Well, damn, I was hoping not having to play that card yet._

"Sir… it’s about Anthony Stark."

A brief widening of Elias’ eyes later, Rhodey gets waved into the house and instructed to wait in the Sitting Room. Rhodey doesn’t feel at ease surrounded by obviously  _very_  expensive furniture, and the painted portrait hanging in the room seems to follow him with its eyes, which is just  _creepy_.

To imagine that Anthony lived here, and was right at home - well, Anthony is much more adaptable than Rhodey, that much has just been proven. It would definitely be easier to be here if Anthony was as well, but alas…

"There is a Second Lieutenant James Rhodes to see you, sir." Elias’ announcement is followed by a hesitation as his employer looks up at him with mild curiosity. "He says it’s about Anthony."

As Elias knew it would, that last bit galvanized the lord to action. “Where is he?” Jarvis asks, standing up and already walking briskly towards the door. “I put in him the smaller sitting room, sir.” The valet barely has the words out before Jarvis is disappearing down the hallway.

 _He says it’s about Anthony._  Jarvis’ heart is in his throat as he practically hurtles down the stairs. What could an officer in the army, even a junior officer, have to do with his— with Anthony?

When the door gets opened Rhodey all but jumps out of his seat, locking eyes with the tall, blond man who threw the door open with a little more force than strictly necessary, his hand still holding onto tightly to the door knob.

For a moment, they just stand there, staring at each other, until Rhodey smooths his hands down his coat and steps forwards, offering his hand. “Lord Thompson?”

This seems to finally startle the earl out of his spontaneous freeze, and Jarvis closes the door behind him before accepting the hand offered, giving it a brief shake. “Yes, pardon me, Jarvis Thompson. I— did something happen to Anthony?” Jarvis thinks, later, that he only managed introductions through long ingrained habit.

If he sounds a little anxious, Rhodey doesn’t mention it, simply giving a light shake of his head. Jarvis breathes a little easier after that, the unvoiced reassurance having him visibly slumping in realief, though he doesn’t bother to muster up a smile for his unannounced guest.

"He really is no army material."

Rhodey blinks, then smiles, maybe a little wider than strictly polite. “I know. I’m not here to recruit anyone, Lord Thompson, I’m Anthony’s friend.”

"Anthony’s friend?" Jarvis blinks. Rhodes, Rhodes… "You’re Rhodey. Aren’t you?" Well, that just gives the Earl an entirely different reason to be nervous.

"That would be me," Rhodey replies mildly, inwardly rolling his eyes at Anthony being unable to refer to his proper name in any and all circumstances, but keeping his gaze on the Lord before him.

The Earl is younger than he imagined, not much older than himself, if James had to guess, but he wears impressive circles under his eyes. It’s enough for Rhodey to feel a little guilty to interrupt like this - no doubt the Earl is a busy man.

"I am sorry for the invasion, Mr Thompson."

Jarvis takes a moment to examine the other man. Rhodes was young, about the same age as Anthony, and had dark skin and a build that shows the years the man had spent in the King’s Army. Something about his expression explained how the two had come to be such good friends.

"Not at all." A pause. "You had said you needed to talk to me about Anthony."

"Yes." Rhodey pauses, weighing his words. While Jarvis seems amiable enough, he’s a stranger to Rhodey, and it would be unwise to be tactless about what has strong possibilities of being at least a little of a touchy subject.

"Anthony told me the story in great length yesterday, and I feel the situation as it is now… is not ideal. Of course, none of this directly concerns me, but Anthony isn’t very good at communicating when it gets personal."

This is an understatement.

The flash of fear that comes when Rhodes reveals how much he knows is instinctive, but easy to fight down. “Oh he did, did he?” Told him the story in great length. Jarvis wonders what Anthony’s story had been like. What he had said about the noble who took him in and then lied to him. The noble who would have had no concept of what his life was like.

James offers a smile, thinking he understands if the other’s nervous about Anthony running his mouth on him. God knows he’s been in that position before, and the results could be a lot less than pleasant… he points at the couch behind him. “Maybe we could sit? And if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear your opinion on this.”

Jarvis closes his eyes and takes a seat, Rhodey imitating him while the earl steeples his fingers before him as he wracks his brain for a— well quite frankly— for a way to state his side without facing possible murder by a lieutenant. Said lieutenant is shifting in his seat, finding it difficult to relax among the fluffy pillows and the softness of the couch he’s sitting on.  _Bloody hell, being rich would be nerve-wrecking._

"My opinion is that Anthony knew I had lied about his debt being fully paid. He— well in a very real way I controlled a great deal of his life. And, I think, that— the thought of me simply waiving yet another debt like the previous— I think it would have insulted him. And rightly so."

Rhodey forgets his discomfort, then, shifting his attention to the noble entirely. "That’s not wrong," he admits, imagining himself how Anthony must’ve reacted to the new debt. Of course, when Anthony himself talked about it, he gave nothing but the essential parts of it, not bothering to explain how the scene made him feel.  _Not wrong, but… neither is it right,_  Rhodey thinks to himself.

Jarvis hesitates, but he has to explain. “I am aware of the distance between us, in rank and standing. I know this. But sometimes… I must have forgotten. I forgot that I controlled a great deal of his life, there was no way he could have stood as my equal,” and he had only been deluding himself when he nurtured that thought. “Anthony wanted freedom, who am I to deny him, lieutenant.”

Rhodey stifles a sigh. How will he be able to do anything about this situation? Both the Earl and Anthony seem to be stuck entirely, if for different reasons.

Part of him cannot quite believe he’s actually putting his nose in Anthony’s love life, but for the greatest part, he’s not actually surprised. He’d do way more for Anthony, if he deemed it necessary, than have a slightly stilted conversation in a noble’s sitting room.

"You couldn’t," he replies, bluntly, "if Anthony doesn’t want to be anywhere, he’ll leave. But I don’t think that’s what actually happened here. I don’t blame you, but I think… I think between the both of you, there has been some… misunderstanding." Rhodey loves Anthony, but this is still really awkward. If he even gets anywhere, Anthony will owe him big time. "Have you seen him since?"

It’s a simple question, but Jarvis still hesitates. The truth is he’s come close, so many times, to paying his Stray— Anthony, a visit at his new… occupation. But it felt like an invasion. Somehow he felt that it would be safer to let Anthony come to him instead. (Because he knew that if he did it he would end up begging the other man to come back.) The problem was that he knew from all his reports that Anthony was not only doing well for himself, he was  _thriving_  at the factory. And Jarvis would be that last person to take that away.

"No. It… didn’t seem appropriate. Anthony is— he seems to be doing well for himself and I have no desire to ruin his happiness."

Rhodey expected that kind of answer, but truth be told, he still doesn’t have a reply at the ready. For a moment, he’s just quiet, folding his hands on his thighs and looking at the irritating portrait that still seems to follow him with its eyes, before looking at the blond again.

"You’re waiting for something?"

"As silly as this may sound, I thought it best that he decide when,"  _and if_ , “he wanted to return.” It was cowardly, Jarvis would admit. And his title was only a portion of the reason; because Rhodes was right, Anthony didn’t do anything he didn’t want to.

Jarvis was afraid that with the world opening up to Anthony, his stray would realise that there was something, someone, better out there for him than a reclusive, eccentric noble.

"But he wont," Rhodey says, only sheer power of will keeping his voice from sounding as exasperated as he feels, and when he sees the other’s face, hurries to continue, "because he thinks he’s been kicked out. Anthony thinks you’ve shown him the door because you’ve had enough of him. He’s always been of the opinion that people are bound to tire of him eventually, since he’s fully aware of being exhausting for others to handle."

"I didn’t kick him out," the reply is quick, almost automatic. "He  _left_ , he asked to leave.” If Jarvis is not careful he’ll end up scratching furrows in the arms of his chair because of how hard he’s gripping them. And maybe he’s a little defensive about it, but…  _Anthony_  left. He  _asked_  to leave first. To put space between them. For a little while at least. Anthony is the one who didn’t want him anymore.

"Yes, he did." Unable to sit still anymore, Rhodey gets out of his seat, pacing back and forth in the room. "We both know he did. Anthony knows, and bless him, Anthony can be a right daft twit. But, do you remember how you reacted?"

He stops in his steps, looking at the noble, his brow furrowed. “I’ve no doubt you remember the moment clearly. Can you imagine what it looked like to Anthony?”

By this point it’s a wonder the wood beneath Jarvis’ fingers isn’t creaking in protest. A deep breath, because he had not even thought of that. How Anthony might have viewed it. “I didn’t mean to seem like I had kicked him out. He— I thought he wanted distance, and traveling between here and the factory would be… a very long way.”

But God, he should have considered the other’s view. Should have known better. “He thinks that I showed him the door, doesn’t he?”

_Because I did, didn’t I? I let him pack and leave the next day._

"Yes." Rhodey sits down again, looking at Jarvis evenly. "Anthony doesn’t think he’s in any position to return." A pause, then Rhodey decides to ask, just to be sure: "I’m guessing he’s wrong about that?"

The question is answered with a self-deprecating smile. “Is it that obvious?” Jarvis sighs. “I am going to have to talk to him.” Because it’s obvious that Anthony won’t be the one to make the first move.

Rhodey can’t help himself, he just smiles, widely. “Thank you, mister. I mean, Lord Thompson.” It may sound absurd that he’s the one doing the thanking, but to Rhodey, it seems only logical. Anthony will never be simple to handle, and Anthony would, given time, probably get over the Earl, move on -

\- but from the way Anthony talked, he’s never been as happy anywhere as he was in this man’s service. And that makes this all kinds of important to Rhodey. “That is all I wanted - but, and I am aware this is overstepping boundaries, but if you want, I could maybe give you a few pointers…”

Jarvis remains silent for a moment. Help would be… appreciated. Everyone who knew him would readily admit that Anthony was a difficult person. “I wouldn’t turn away the help.”

"Just one thing," Rhodey says, taking a deep breath before launching himself, "I will tell you what I think you should do, that’s all. I will not push Anthony towards you in any way, so if he decides to come back to you, that will be his decision, and if he decides against it, I’ll ask you to accept that, too."

Jarvis could have smiled at the evidence of how much Rhodes obviously cared about his friend, but instead the earl simply nods in understanding. “In the full interest of honesty I have every intention of accepting Anthony’s decision on the matter. I would never force him.”

A nod, reflecting Jarvis’ own, then Rhodey smiles again, feeling like they have an understanding. Feeling like Jarvis can be trusted with Anthony, at least until there’s evidence to the contrary. And so Rhodey leans forward to share his plan. “You should go see him at the factory…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end of the story! Probably one more chapter to go, maybe more. The next update might not be as swift (there's final exams, Christmas, final exams...) but we'll get there! Thank you all for the support in the form of kudos and comments, it is always much appreciated! :)


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jarvis really doesn't have any choice but to do as Rhodey says, since Rhodey knows best.

Rationally, there should never be a reason to be nervous of entering the factory you own, unless one is fearing a revolt. Jarvis doesn’t exactly fear a _revolt_ \- he likes to think he provides good working conditions, and appropriate salaries, especially compared to his competition - but when he’s standing in front of the factory today, there are reasons to be nervous.

And none of them related to his workers chasing him with pitchforks.

By the time Pepper comes out again, Howlett in tow, Jarvis had ample time to change his mind multiple times about the entire thing.

"M’lord," the man greets, gruffly as usual, and Jarvis tries to draw comfort from this bit of normalcy, "what brings you here?"

Pepper gives the earl an encouraging smile even as Howlett lights his cigar, taking advantage of not being in the factory for five minutes. This, too, feels normal, and Jarvis steels himself.

"The worker I sent you last year, Anthony," Howlett just nods, looking at Jarvis quietly, "I would like to see him. Survey his work today."

"Hm," a puff of smoke, then Howlett gives an easy shrug, "long as you don’t get in the way, m’lord, it shan’t bother me in the slightest. The Stark boy works at the far end, always produces a right mess. Luck’ly for him, he always has to show somethin’ for it."

The man actually smiles at that, a rare sight. “Good worker, though. Show yourself in, m’lord.” And with that, Howlett turns towards Pepper. “Ms. Potts, how’s the Queen Consolidated business deal going?”

Jarvis knows when Pepper starts indulging the man with business talk (Howlett may be interested, he may also just be stalling because he can’t continue smoking his cigar inside the factory, it’s hard to tell at times), he’s been dismissed, and so he takes a deep breath, walking into the factory with more determination than he feels.

He’s wearing - for him - a simple shirt and trousers, but when he closes in on Anthony’s workplace, he still feels self-conscious and a little over-dressed. Anthony is sleeveless, head bowed deep enough so his eyes aren’t visible beneath his hair, which has grown a little wilder since Jarvis last saw him, and his arms are clearly more refined, as well… Jarvis swallows, half-tempted to turn and walk away again, but by then it’s too late.

Anthony straightens, frowning down at his work and wiping his brow with the back of his hand. It is pure coincidence that he catches Jarvis’ gaze, and he blinks rapidly, as if thinking he’s hallucinating, mouth opening and closing.

"…Jarvis?"

Hearing Anthony’s voice after so long was like a hit to the gut. He hesitates a moment and then: “Anthony.” He could hit himself. After all this time, after every speech he’s prepared that’s is all he can manage. Jarvis forces himself to take a deep breath and try again. “Anthony, I— Your friend, Lieutenant Rhodes paid me a visit.”

Okay, that wasn’t much better. There was so much he wanted to say but right now he was afraid that he might just break down and beg like he had feared he might.

What can Anthony do, but blink? This is unexpected, and it feels surreal enough he’s almost ready to dismiss it entirely. Maybe he’s breathed some strange fumes while smoldering earlier—

"He did?" Anthony bites down on both _why?_ and _meddling jerk_ , shaking his head briefly before smiling at Jarvis. The earl tongue-tied. It simply never gets old.

"You’re being distracting," Anthony says, almost admonishing, but clearly amused, twirling the screwdriver in his left, and then his voice takes on the slightly too fast quality that gives away his nervousness, ”I’m not going to get anything done if you stand there and look at me. Just— just saying. In case you were wondering why I’m currently not working. Really, I don’t slack off a lot here—”

"Ah," Jarvis manages to shake off the feeling of being overwhelmed by this entire situation, and steps forward to look at what the boy is working on. His head tilts as his eyes trace over the lines of the blue prints laid out on one of the tables before turning to examine the tools and materials laid out in a sprawl of organised chaos. Meanwhile, Anthony’s tongue has just been glued to the roof of his mouth. Nobody is quite sure how or when it happened, but Anthony can tell by the way he opens his mouth and nothing makes it out.

"An internal-combustion engine?" Jarvis leans closer. "A steam one, hmm," he’s almost taken in by the challenge but pulls away, coming to a decision.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Not waiting for an answer he begins to shrug out of the trappings of his wealth and rank, looking over at Anthony as he rolls up his sleeves expectantly.

A nod is all the reply Jarvis gets, and then Anthony finds his speaking abilities again, staring at the noble wide-eyed. “Join me? But— but you _own_ this factory, I— I don’t understand?”

His brain catches up with his mouth fast enough to inform him that _hey, Anthony, that’s kind of rude and you’re talking to your boss right now,_ so he snaps his mouth shut, worrying his lower lip. “I mean, sure, if you— if you want—”

"You know, most of the designs that are manufactured here are mine. You have to know, I let you handle the papers." Jarvis takes the invitation, ignoring the fact that he wasn’t really giving the boy a choice, and steps forward and picking up one of the tools.

"Of course, but— you own this factory.” Anthony is aware he’s repeating himself, feeling a little stupid for it really, but the noble ignores him in favour of kneeling down, pulling part of the dismantled engine towards himself. “Your proposed piston design has some merit, I think the only issue with it is here,” he points to one section with the screw driver in his hand. “This is the only part that will ‘gum up’ the works.

The young engineer can do nothing but lean in as well, unmindful of the fact that he’s brushing shoulders with the noble, pulling his eyebrows together in thought.

"May I?" A quick glance over and at Anthony’s bemused nod, Jarvis pulls out a section of the area he’d pointed to. "Hmm, 1.7 millimeters off the diameter should help."

"1.7 millimeters? How good are you at exact work? If you mess up my work you’re gonna do unpaid extra hours." But even as Anthony warns the other off like this, he hands Jarvis the tool needed. "Let’s go, I want to see this _working_.”

"I’m the best at exact work." The young nobleman is already focused on pulling out the piece in question and holding a measure up to it. He accepts the tool Anthony holds out thankfully and sets to work. "After all, it would be such a tragedy to be forced to dock my own pay. We have such a strict boss, wouldn’t want to anger him."

Anthony grins, watching the noble work with his tongue sticking out between his teeth with a focus so intense he hardly blinks.

"Are we talking about your own self or the grumbling cigar man? Oh, does he call you bub, too? Just out of curiosity. Don’t mind me, keep working—”

"I pay his wage, too, so I assume I was speaking about myself," Jarvis returns easily. "And yes, he does. I assume he does it because he thinks it will make everyone underestimate him. Act like an uneducated peasant from the backwoods of the Canadian provinces and people decide it’s safe to let a few things slip around him."

"You’re not that scary, _Boss_ ," Anthony says, tongue-in-cheek, tapping his fingers against his thigh with barely contained energy.

"What a pity, and I do try so hard to be as scary as possible. Considering my title it should come naturally."

Anthony just rolls his eyes, clearly expressing his opinion on that statement, and Jarvis turns back to his work, knowing he's smiling inappropriately by now. This relaxed atmosphere is a balm to him in more ways than one, taking with it a lot of the strain the noble has been carrying around with him, and he refocuses on the work easily.

When it’s finished the piece fits in better than it did before. Jarvis steps back, eyeing his work critically. “You may want to try it now. Decide whether I earned my pay this time around.”

The reply Jarvis gets is Anthony clapping his hands together excitedly, his enthusiasm sweeping him away. “It looks amazing, I’m sure it’ll work, thank you—” Still babbling his excited thanks, Anthony starts positively glowing when the engine, after a brief rattling, turns on as supposed. Sitting back to admire his handiwork with a smile, Jarvis looks up in time to catch Anthony’s excitement as his creation comes to life. He knows that feeling well, but to see it on the man he had come to love, this was worth all the fear and uncertainty coming here.

"That was so much faster than I’d get it done myself—"

"Glad I could be of service, Anthony," he gives a half bow from where he was sitting.

Anthony is grinning at Jarvis - but when he meets Jarvis’ eyes he suddenly feels his cheeks heat up a little, suddenly growing self-conscious, and turns away, distracting himself by way of pulling another invention out of a pile of things.

How he manages that without burying himself in metal parts is anyone’s guess.

"Now you can help with the wire transmitter, you see, I’ve been trying to make it work with at least some consistency, but—"

Jarvis' attention is captured almost instantly by the next thing Tony pulls down, eyes focused on the metal and wire contraption as he happily loses himself in Anthony’s creations. If it were possible Jarvis knows he would fallen in love with the boy all over again. This, his mind, everything, he had such a way of viewing the world.

Anthony may have been a boon to his own solitude, but he suspects that the world is much better off with Anthony here rather by his side. Who was he to be so selfish as to keep him away from all of this just for his own benefit?

Time passes, minutes stretching into hours before either of them takes notice of it. The young engineer more than happily allowed himself to get utterly lost in having somebody at his side that knows how to push him in just the right way where he’s been stuck before. It’s brilliant and by the time Anthony looks up and glances across the factory, it has grown mostly silent, a surefire sign that he’s made Jarvis work extra hours already.

 _Oops_.

Noticing the other shifting his focus away, Jarvis looks up as well, considering the mostly abandoned factory with a bemused smile. “Well then,” he says after a moment, feeling a pop when he stretches. “This is more fun than I’ve had for months.”

Anthony looks at Jarvis, opening his mouth, then shaking his head. He meant to ask _really? You had fun?_ but then it would be a little silly. The young inventor would know better than most how much fun working on those things really is, and the Earl doesn’t get out much to do fun things.

He twirls the screwdriver he is holding between his fingers, frowning down at it. Is this Jarvis saying goodbye? Because that’s not— Anthony doesn’t want him to go. It’s much better when the Earl is here and—

"Can I— I want to—" Anthony waves around vaguely with the screwdriver, and it’s easy to pinpoint the moment where he goes from this unsure hesitation to determination. The young man puts the screwdriver down, checking to see that nobody is looking at them, and then he steps forward and pulls Jarvis’ face down a little to kiss him with a hint of desperation.

_Don’t go._

The kiss is a surprise, but it feels so good, so right that Jarvis simply gives himself over to it, letting Anthony take what he wants to. When the younger man draws away, Anthony's expression is unusually serious, and Jarvis feels his heart twisting nervously.

"Nobody will ever look at me and say ‘oh yes, he’s worthy of a noble’s affection’," the younger man mumbles, giving a slight shake of his head, "but that’s stupid and I don’t need it anyways, I just—” and there Anthony steps back, head lowered, “I never want to be a burden on you, but I don’t—"

Hearing those words, watching Anthony stumble over them, has Jarvis choking on the ache that takes hold in his chest. “Anthony,” the name, murmured so reverently, filled with an aching desire. “Anthony, you were never a burden. Never. I may have been—” his voice breaks on the words. Oh god, why did his voice have to fail him now.

He takes a deep breath, bracing himself. “You were never a burden. It was me, being selfish, wanting you to myself and by my side. I— I realize what a disservice I did you. Taking you away from something you are so obviously passionate about and keeping you by my side like I did.” He looks around, an arm sweeping out as if to indicate the work scattered around them.

"I had meant to help you, but I see now that all I did was hold you back. I guess the road to hell truly is paved with good intentions," the laugh that he forces out holds more than he’s able to say. A welter of emotions and self-recriminations.

Anthony means to say something, but when he opens his mouth, nothing makes it out. He looks at what Jarvis indicates, lingering on the gigantic mess of inventions, half-finished and some in pieces, and doesn’t know what to say.

It’s true he’s passionate about what he does, that he tended for restlessness working in Jarvis’ household, but that doesn’t mean that he hated it or anything, it definitely doesn’t make everything Jarvis did a _disservice_. “That’s a pile of shite,” he says, and is surprised by himself seeing how violent his voice is, how he feels almost _insulted_ on Jarvis' behalf. If anyone else had talked about what Jarvis did that way, Anthony would have called them words not fit for proper company. “You know— that I am able to do this today, that I got where I am, that is all thanks to you and your disservice, so don’t _say_ that— but you didn't let me finish, before.”

Anthony steels himself, looking at Jarvis. His resolve is steely enough, but his voice still quivers like a leaf dragged along by the wind despite it all. The vehemence in Anthony’s voice takes Jarvis by surprise. The boy is so convinced that Jarvis was not in the wrong in his actions that the noble almost wants to believe it himself. Almost. But then there is no room for anymore self-recrimination, all that matters is Anthony and what he is saying.

"I don't want to be a burden, but I, I don’t want to be away from you, and maybe I’ll never manage to reconcile that because I’m an idiot, I’m, I’m sorry but, but, I love you and I really don’t know what to do about that.”

The longer he talks, the quieter he gets, until at last his words are no more than a whisper. He’s not crying. Anthony’s determined not to start crying, but he has to blink angrily to keep the wetness from escaping.

Of course Anthony has to go and break the walls Jarvis had so desperately built up. ‘I love you’. Three simple words but they have the power to knock the breath from his lungs and tie his tongue into knots making it impossible to find words let alone speak. He doesn’t give himself a chance to think, he just reaches out and pulls the boy close to him and captures his lips in a kiss again, Anthony gasping before folding against the noble. It’s no less desperate a kiss than the one Anthony had given.

When he breaks the kiss he can finally speak again. He only has room for one thing. “I love you, too,” he whispers, voice low but fervent with the force of the emotion. “So much, my Stray, that I cannot— I don’t think even those three words can hold how much you mean to me.”

“I— I—,” and now Anthony is crying, but he is definitely ignoring the tears on his cheek. There’s no question about what to do next. Jarvis wraps his arms around the man, pulling him in close and tight. It’s impossible to miss the tears, however he doesn’t think that Anthony would appreciate if he mentioned them. “I want to go home, please.”

 _Home_. Well, there was only one answer Jarvis could give to that. “Yes, please yes.” He wants to laugh, to cry, to kiss the man in his arms and never let go.

"I can still work here, it doesn’t bother me to take the walk everyday, and there’s less chances of me dooming your household by accidentally insulting a guest or breaking things, and I can sleep in your bed again?"

Anthony voices it like a question, already a little proud of himself he managed to say all that without stuttering, but Jarvis' arms are around him and it’s easy to feel braver for it, looking up at the other's blue eyes. "That would be, I would like that."

"It sounds like an acceptable solution," Jarvis is trying to make himself seem professional, but no matter what he does he can’t stop the smile that keeps tugging the corners of his lips up. That’s as far as he can get though before he gives into impulse and captures Anthony’s lips in another kiss, quick but filled with every bit of his affection and joy.

"Anything you want, Anthony. Anything for you, my stray. Let’s go home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's curtains for our Earl and his Stray!
> 
> First off, we'd like to thank you for reading and enjoying this work, for leaving comments and kudos. It has all been much appreciated, at times even inspiring, and we're proud to have finished this work, also thanks to you, dear readers!
> 
> Then, I'd like to remind you that this entire story was the fruit of an intense, long-lasting roleplay of an alternate Regency universe between tincanicarus (Tony) and snarkyai (Jarvis) on tumblr. If you want more of these two idiots, and there's lots - even if it's probably not as nicely wrapped up as we did here - reading our roleplays is always an option. Especially I, tincanicarus, take care of meticulously tagging everything under the sun (or: everything on my blog, which is already a lot), and if you delve into my /snarkyai tag, you can basically pick a thread or an AU, put /chrono at the end of it and go to town. We've roleplayed together for over two years now, so have fun, and mayhaps see you there!
> 
> Last but not least, this story has officially been finished on Valentine's Day. Which was a complete accident, but I like to mention it :3 have a nice day/night/whatever time of day it is where you're at!


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